Master of the House, Mistress of the Manor
by The Yankee Countess
Summary: A collection of stories involving the Bransons and roleplaying. CHAPTER SIX: "His Lordship's Chamber"-the morning after, Tom and Sybil indulge in another fantasy that involves a specific place...and a specific bed! Rated M for a reason; light male dom/female sub. If not your thing, come back later for future chapters! (AU of course! Lady Sybil lives!)
1. Prisoner of the Revolution

_So this began as a story for Across-the-Rubicon's "All Tied Up!" challenge, but something else began to emerge. On Tumblr, Sybil/Tom fans are encouraged to "Rock the Valentine AU!" and I wanted to do something smutty (sometimes you just need to read/write smut) but also something sweet and sexy too. So I came up with this idea of throwing together all sorts of "roleplay" stories into one volume, and TA DA! This lil' fic was born. There isn't much in the way of a plot-this is more or less pure, unapologetic Sybil/Tom smut, *but* a tiny plot does take place at the end of the story, or rather, it will "explain and pave the way" for things to happen ;o) THAT BEING SAID...this story is *very* much worthy of the "M" rating, so be warned! There is a *little* dirty-talk, plus because it pertains to the "All Tied Up" challenge, there is also some light bondage happening here. If those things don't appeal, then come back later, when more chapters are added-hopefully you'll find something you like! But if you do read, I hope you enjoy this exploration into Sybil and Tom's love life. And without further ado..._

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**MASTER OF THE HOUSE, MISTRESS OF THE MANOR  
**_**By The Yankee Countess**_

_Chapter One**  
**_**"Prisoner of the Revolution"**

"Umph!" Sybil gasped as she suddenly felt her backside hit what felt like…a mattress?

She couldn't see a thing; a blindfold was covering her eyes. And there was barely any light coming from beneath it; wherever she was, it was dark. And even a little chilly. She struggled to sit up, but it was difficult, since her hands were bound behind her back. She bit her lip and tested her bonds once again, but they were firm and fast.

Her struggles suddenly ceased…when she heard footsteps approach. "W-w-who's there?" she called out, trying to sound brave.

The footsteps continued their journey…until she swore that had stopped just at the foot of the mattress where she lay.

"Good evening, milady…" the voice whispered in the dark.

Sybil's body tensed at the thick, Irish accent. "W-w-what do you want? I haven't—OH!" she gasped as she suddenly felt a leg being jerked from where she lay, _and_ when she realized it was being tied to…a bedpost? "What are you doing?" she all but screamed.

"Can't have our pretty prisoner escape, now, can we?"

She shivered at the voice, but continued in her efforts to sound brave. "I demand that you release me this instant! You have no idea who—AH!"

Her other leg was roughly tugged to another bedpost…and Sybil bit her lip, fully aware that her legs were both parted and that she was now lying atop this mattress…spread-eagled.

"Oh, I know exactly who you are, _milady_," the voice growled as it tightened the bond on her ankle. "The Earl of Grantham's youngest daughter; a posh member of the aristocracy…" her breath caught in her throat…as she felt rough, work-calloused fingers run down from her ankle where the bond had been tied…around the back of her leg…and sliding up her calf-muscle…to the inside of her knee. "…an English oppressor."

"Oppressor?" Sybil gasped, trying to shake the fingers off her leg, but it was proving futile, and the voice knew it and chuckled. "How dare you assume such things! Why I'll have you know—"

She gasped as she felt a hand grip her chin. It was rough, but it didn't hurt, surprisingly. The hand held her face, and while she tried to wrestle her chin free…she felt another hand cup her throat, and she swallowed against the rough skin. "Who…who are you…?" she was trying to sound brave, but her breathing no doubt gave her away. "I…I demand to know who you are!"

The voice began to laugh, a low, deep, and rather dark laugh. "You 'demand' me?" he chuckled. "I don't think you're in the position to be making demands anymore…_milady_," the voice growled, and Sybil gasped as she felt herself being pushed back onto the mattress…and her bound wrists were brought over her head.

"What…what are you…?" she gasped as she realized he was taking her wrists (still bound) and binding them to what she could only assume was a bed's headboard. "Let me go!" she began to struggle, but it was difficult due to how her legs and ankles were bound to the bedposts at her feet. "LET ME GO THIS INSTANT!"

Her chin was grabbed once more, and she felt the rough fingers sink into her flesh. "Keep shouting like that and I'll have to gag that pretty mouth of yours," the voice snarled.

Sybil felt her breath catch at the threat. But she gritted her teeth, refusing to let fear rule her heart in this moment. Despite what he was doing, this man had no power over her, and she would make that quite clear by calling his bluff. "You don't scare me," she hissed back. "Now…LET ME GO AT ONCE! DO YOU HEAR? AT ON-MMMMMMMMMMMMM!"

If there weren't a blindfold covering her eyes, they would have gone wide at what happened next.

A hot, demanding mouth was covering hers. And an even more demanding tongue was forcing its way inside, silencing any other words; indeed, robbing her of her very breath! She tried to struggle against her captor's mouth, but it seemed to be vain; his mouth was strong…and his tongue was wicked. It slid so tantalizingly against hers, drawing it, coaxing it into his own mouth…and God forgive her, she did. Her tongue betrayed her, and began to explore the demanding mouth of her captor. Her lips moved against his, feeling the rough skin, the stumble around his lip and chin. A treacherous moan escaped her throat…and her captor laughed against her mouth.

She tried to pull away then, realizing what she had done, but her captor held her down, his hands still holding her face, to keep it in its place against his, and his lips wrapping around her tongue, and sucking it deep into his mouth, his own wildly playing against it, causing the blood in her body to rise and boil, while her skin tingled and her heart thumped wildly.

He released her mouth then, and she gasped as air once again filled her lungs. Her captor chuckled, and Sybil felt her face burn with heat. "Do that again…" she threatened. "And…and I'll bite you till your lips bleed!"

She expected to feel his fingers roughly grip her chin again; or perhaps for him to do something else in an effort to try and frighten her. But instead…she gasped…as she felt her captor's fingers move down to the front of her blouse…and began popping the buttons on her rapidly rising and falling chest.

"I think you enjoyed that…" he growled.

"N-n-no…" she protested. "I…I hated it."

He chuckled. "You don't sound like someone who hated being kissed by a commoner."

Her flesh tingled a little more at this. "Commoner?"

"Aye," he growled, and a shiver ran down her spine, as he leaned close, his breath hot against her skin and his voice just inches from her ear. His fingers were still expertly removing buttons. "Even though you're an English aristocrat…a _'fine well-bred lady'_…" his growl had almost become a purr, and Sybil bit her lip to keep herself from whimpering. "…I think you rather like…what's that term you posh folk use? '_Slumming it'_."

She frowned and shook her head, while at the same trying to wriggle free from her bindings. "How dare you," she hissed. "I do not 'slum' as you refer to it!"

"Oh no?" She gasped as she suddenly felt him grip the sides of her blouse and pull it forcefully open. "Then explain to me…why you're here…in an Irish slum…and without a corset?"

The whimper she had been trying to suppress earlier escaped her throat. "I…I can't stand corsets…" she replied, as if that were a decent enough answer; as if that were the important answer to give in such a moment as this!

Her captor chuckled. "Mmmm…neither can I, milady," he murmured, pushing the material of her blouse further apart. She wore a simple chemise under her blouse, but that was all. And she knew that the material of her chemise was quite thin. And despite what her brain was telling her body, it seemed that her body had other plans, because she could feel her nipples hardening under the heat of his gaze, or so she imagined.

"Corsets can be troublesome things…" he sighed, and without warning, Sybil gasped as she felt one of his rough hands cup her right breast. "Not only are they quite uncomfortable, from what I hear…" his fingers were now tracing the outline of her right nipple, and Sybil was writhing beneath his touch. "But they can also destroy a woman's luscious curves…or flatten her beautiful breasts…" his other hand was now cupping her left breast, and Sybil whimpered and wriggled beneath his sensual touch. Oh forgive her; she wanted to feel his hands on her skin! "And I must say, milady…you have the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen." He pinched her nipples then and Sybil's gasp may have been louder than any shout she had tried to deliver earlier. "Of course…they're still covered. But I'll rectify that soon…" he promised, leaning close…and running his tongue along the flesh of her throat. "Mmmmm…your skin tastes delicious, milady…do you taste as good everywhere?" Her only answer was a moan, and she felt him push his hands beneath the fabric of her chemise…and pull it away from her skin. "Well? Aren't you going to answer me? I thought you posh girls were taught that it was polite to answer a question when a gentleman asks it?"

"You're not a gentleman…" she retorted, still moaning as his the rough pads of his fingers made contact with her breasts.

"Aye, you're right, I'm not…" he breathed and moved his mouth to her ear again, sucking the lobe between his teeth, causing her writhe and moan, while his fingers made lazy circles over her breasts, moving higher and higher, ever closer to her straining nipples. "Mmmmm…you feel so soft…like dove feathers…" he growled against her ear, giving the lobe a nip. "You're probably not used to the feel of rough, calloused worker hands like these, against your lovely, soft skin, are you?"

She whimpered as his lips moved to her neck, and he softly bit the skin there, sucking a little into his mouth. He was marking her, she knew it. So that all would know what had happened to her—that she had been another victim of the revolution.

"Now what have we here?" she gasped as his rough fingers, the very fingers he had been teasing her with, finally found her nipples. They flicked across the swollen buds, making them stand even higher atop her breasts, and ache even harder. "This part of you isn't so soft, is it?" he growled against her neck, kissing down to her throat, and running his tongue along it. "MMmmmm…it reminds me of a part of myself that is also hard…but much, _much_ bigger…"

To emphasize his point, he ground his hips against her thigh, and Sybil gasped as she clearly felt her captor's throbbing erection through his trousers. Most men bragged when they talked about how "big" they were…but even though she couldn't see it, judging from the feel, it did indeed seem to be quite…_large_.

"You never answered my question…" he murmured against her skin, his lips skimming her collarbone.

"Question?" she whimpered, her chest rising and falling even more as she felt his lips begin to descend…kissing the tops of her breasts…before moving to the valley between them.

"Aye," he growled against her skin, causing her body to shiver even more. "About whether you tasted as good everywhere…"

She was gasping and moaning, feeling his mouth so close, her nipples straining and aching for the touch of his lips. "I…I…I don't know…" she managed to gasp.

He chuckled and blew a bit of cool air down upon one of her breasts. "Well…I'll just have to find out for myself then, won't I?" And without another word, his hot mouth captured her nipple…and sucked it deep inside.

"OH GOD!" Sybil gasped, bucking slightly against her restraints. Her captor chuckled and held her still while he continued to suckle her left breast, his tongue assaulting the nipple, thrashing it and flicking it, and she hissed as she felt his teeth nip it, before drawing it once again deep into his mouth and sucking it hard. He hummed around her skin, clearly making it known that he was enjoying this sweet torture, and without warning, he moved from her left breast to her right, and with a wild growl, immediately began to attack it, doing everything he had done to the other breast, but perhaps a little…rougher…this time. Still, Sybil didn't cry out in pain or beg him to stop. No, she was gasping and moaning and arching her back off the mattress, as if trying to push more of her breast into his mouth. She loved it. She wanted more. She was a wanton prisoner to her revolutionary captor.

She whimpered when she felt his lips leave her. But she could feel his chest, pressed against her abdomen, rumble with a low chuckle. "Mmmmmm…" he murmured, kissing the valley between her breasts…and pushing more fabric away as he kissed down her stomach. "Posh English girls _do_ taste good…"

"Please…" she panted, not really sure what she was asking, but her body was on fire, and there was this tight ache in her core.

"Please?" he murmured, his voice sounding more and more like a warm purr, and she gasped as she felt his lips kiss and tease the skin around her bellybutton, while he continued to remove fabric and push it out of his way. "Please what, milady?"

She didn't know what to say. She should scream for help, her mind kept telling her to scream and fight and struggle and bite. And yet…instead, she lay there, writhing on the mattress, wanting to feel his mouth on her body, wanting to lose herself in the pleasure he had stirred, her cruel captor.

Yes, she was his captive; in every way possible.

"Mmmmmm…" his mouth continued to kiss down her body…and she felt herself tense as she felt his hands move up under her skirt, which had been bunched at her knees, when he had restrained her legs earlier. Oh God…was…was he…? "You smell so good…" he growled, as he continued to kiss and descend. "I wonder…do you taste good…" his hands moved up roughly under her skirt and she cried out, as she felt him grip the edge of her knickers, and tugged them down legs. "…_Everywhere?"_

"Please…" she whimpered again.

"Yes…this pleases me _very_ much," he growled, pushing her skirt up to her waist, putting her on display for all the world to see, if it wished. She was completely exposed, and she could feel the cool air hitting her wet and vulnerable flesh. She could also feel the intense heat of his eyes as she imagined him staring at her with nothing but the purest lust. It shook her, the intensity of that gaze; instinctively she felt she should cover herself, but she was completely at his mercy. Her legs were bound and spread far, and even if she tried to twist her body so, it would do very little to hide her nakedness.

He must have sensed what she was trying to do, because she suddenly felt his hands grasp her hips and hold her still…while he moved his body lower…and she swore her heart stopped beating as she felt his hot breath hitting the inside of her thighs.

"Beautiful…" he whispered, his accent very, very thick. She heard him take a deep breath, and then a growl of satisfaction filled the room. "Mmmmm…your perfume, milady, is most intoxicating…"

There was a shift on the mattress, and Sybil gasped as she felt his rough, calloused fingers touch the inside of her thigh…moving higher…and higher…until it began to trace the wet, outer lips of her sex.

"Oh God!" she gasped.

He chuckled. "Indeed," he murmured. "I think I will be thanking God many times this night…" his finger continued running along her slit and Sybil moaned and whimpered and writhed and gasped, her teeth biting her lip while her hips attempted to rise off the bed every time his fingers touched her. "My God," he groaned, his finger coming away from her body. "I've barely touched you and you're soaking…"

"P-p-p-please…" she panted. She wanted him; God help her, she wanted her captor to possess her, entirely. It felt so wrong to want something like this, and yet…and yet…

"Please?" he repeated the word. "Please what, milady?"

It happened without warning. One second he was teasing her by brushing his fingers along her slit and the next…one of his fingers had sunk in, deeply, through the wet folds of her sex.

"Aaaahhhh!" she all but screamed, her head falling back against the mattress, her limbs thrashing every which way as she felt his finger sink further and further into her hot, wet core…all the way up to his second knuckle, before slowly, deliberately, pulling it out…only to push it back, with a little more force.

"Oh God! OH GOD!" she gasped over and over, her hips actually rising to the thrust of his finger.

He chuckled. "Do you like that, milady?" he growled, kissing her hip. He continued thrusting his finger…building a steady rhythm. "Does that feel…_good_…?"

"Y-y-y-yes!" she gasped, nodding her head and moaning as he continued to tease her with his finger. Oh Lord, help her…she wanted more.

"I thought so," he chuckled. "I wonder…can you take another?" He didn't wait for her response, he began thrusting two fingers into her body, and Sybil began to scream, but not from pain. No, the ache she felt was for relief from the intense pleasure he was giving her.

And it had only just begun.

"Mmmm…yes…I like hearing you scream," he growled as he continued thrusting his fingers in and out of her. The rhythm had increased, and so had the pressure of his thrusts. She gasped as she felt a callous thumb rise and began rubbing her clit. He chuckled as she was practically bucking the entire lower half of her body off the bed. "You like having a rough worker's hands on your flesh," he growled, his lips kissing her thigh. "And you _love_ having a commoner's rough, dirty hands _inside_ you…"

"YES!" she screamed as he continued to pump and grind his fingers in and out of her body at such an intense tempo. And when she suddenly felt his lips move to her clit and suck it between them…she came undone completely.

It was like shattering into a thousand pieces.

Her body stiffened and then throbbed and then trembled as the intensity of the orgasm caused her limbs to shiver with pleasure.

…But he wasn't finished with her. Her captor was far from finished with her.

Because his fingers remained inside her, continued to pump…while his mouth now attacked her body, his rough, velvet-like tongue licking her, lapping at her, practically eating her alive! He hummed, he groaned, and he growled as he devoured her body, his other hand coming up to spread her legs even further apart, if that were possible. She was screaming again, and on the heels of one orgasm came another (or perhaps it was the same one? She hadn't fully recovered from the first). And yet still, he did not relent his torture. He continued to lick and lap and tease her with his lips, teeth, and tongue. The stubble on his chin even added an erotic thrill as it rubbed against the delicate insides of her thighs.

"Please…" she moaned, as she felt his lips move up to her clit and suck it deeply, just as he had sucked at her nipples earlier. "Please…I…I…I don't think—"

"Is it too much?"

She only answered with a whimper, and let out a huge gasp as she felt his fingers withdraw completely…and his mouth give her sex one final kiss, the sort a lover would give when saying goodbye. She trembled and moaned as he lifted his head away…and lay there, panting…trying to get her heart to resume its regular beating.

She was a wanton.

She had allowed this...this…this _rebel_ to have his ruthless and wicked way with her. She had given in completely to him; she had let him do things to her that she would never have let any other man do. And she had loved every second.

She should feel ashamed of her brazen behavior.

…And yet, God help her…she wanted more.

"OH!"

Apparently, so did he.

He was straddling her, practically. She had felt a momentary shift on the mattress, as if he had risen and stepped away. But now she realized that he had finished in removing his own clothing because she was very, _very_ aware…that he was most indeed naked.

…And judging from what she could feel against her thigh, _extremely_ aroused.

"I want you," he growled. "Can you _feel_ how desperately I want you?"

She whimpered as he rubbed his hardness against her skin. Oh God, he was huge! And pulsing…

He lowered his lips to her ear and whispered, "Do you want me just as much as I want you? Do you want me…inside you?"

She was panting, his words arousing her more and more, as she could feel the tip of his cock nuzzling the wet folds of her body.

"Tell me," he growled against her lips. "Say it."

"Yes…I…I want you! PLEASE!"

He didn't make her wait.

"Ahhhh!" she cried, her head falling back as her body was suddenly, beautifully stretched and filled with his. His cock was buried to the hilt, or so it felt. He grunted and groaned as he sank deeper into her body, the muscles clutching him, drawing him in and never wanting to let go.

"SWEET JESUS!" he swore, his hands gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, marking her, letting the world know that indeed…she was his.

…And he was hers.

"Fuck," he swore again, easing his body out just a little…before moving it back in a quick, deep thrust.

He was panting. She couldn't deny, it caused her to smile, listening to him pant and gasp as he adjusted to her warmth and tightness, the same way her own adjusted to his length and girth.

"So…so tight…" he moaned. "God…you…you feel wonderful, milady…"

He was catching his breath…and began to thrust again, causing her to gasp and moan for him, wanting more, never wanting it to end! The hardest part, though, was not being able to touch him. Not being able to wrap her legs around his waist to draw him in deeper. Her own hands couldn't even move to wrap around his body, entwine around his neck, run her fingers and scratch her nails down his back. She wished, more so now than when he had taken her prisoner, that her bonds didn't exist. All she could do was lift her hips to meet his thrusts, and she bit her lip and groaned and tried her best to do just that.

He must have noticed, because she heard a throaty, pleasured chuckle come from his body. "You like this, milady?"

She couldn't speak. She was at a total loss for her words, so she simply nodded her head, trying to lift her hips again as he drove himself even deeper.

He leaned down over her, and she felt his hot breath against her throat. "You like being _fucked_ by a commoner?"

"Yes…" she gasped, whimpering for more, needing more. "Please…don't…don't stop…"

"Never," he vowed, pumping his body a little harder, a little faster. "You're mine now, princess…and I'm _never_ going to let you go."

"Promise?" she gasped, as he rolled his hips in such a way, that she felt him hit a rather pleasurable spot deep inside.

He chuckled and lowered his lips to her throat, gently biting the flesh, leaving his mark once again her skin.

"Kiss me…" she begged. "Please! Please…kiss me!"

He answered her plea, his mouth covering hers, kissing her deeply as his body moved rapidly, faster, harder, deeper, longer, each thrust causing the both of them to gasp and moan, while their mouths continued to find pleasure with each other, their tongues tangling and thrusting, trying to match the rhythm of their bodies.

She felt his hands move around her, under her back, lifting her as best he could, despite the bonds that held her down to the bed. He lifted her to meet his thrusts, his body never ceasing, the speed only increasing more and more.

"YES! YES!" she began to scream, her lips ripping away from his to let the world hear the pleasure her captor was giving her. She was his, completely; her body and her heart.

"Sybil…" he growled, breaking character momentarily as he felt the walls of her channel clench around him, squeezing him, begging for his seed to fill her. She was shaking, trembling, her orgasm spreading throughout her body and into his.

He quickly pulled out, just in time, and they both gasped, as she felt his seed fall across her stomach and breasts. They groaned each other's names…and then she felt him collapse beside her, his face buried against her neck, as they panted and recovered from their vigorous lovemaking.

"Tom…" she moaned, purring in deep satisfaction.

She heard him chuckle, and her purr only increased as she felt him lovingly nuzzle her neck. "Yes, milady?"

She couldn't see his face, but she knew he was smirking. "Am I now a member of the 'revolution'?"

He chuckled and kissed her cheek. "You always were."

"Good," she grinned. "So then, would be so kind as to remove my blindfold?"

"Hmmm…" he hesitated, but only to tease her. "I may need to _interrogate_ you some more—"

"You better be careful with that, Mr. Branson, otherwise I will not be so kind when it's _my_ turn," she playfully threatened.

He laughed and withdrew the blindfold then, smiling down at her when she could finally see his eyes, lit with nothing by the purest love. "Finally," she sighed, glad to see his face. Yes, it was very exciting to make love and have to rely on all other senses, but she missed seeing his face, seeing his eyes hold her gaze as their bodies joined as they both reached ecstasy.

He gave her a sweet, soft kiss on her lips, before quickly moving to undo the bindings at her wrists. She groaned as she was finally able to move her arms again, and gave them a quick shake, trying to get some circulation back in them. "You alright, love?" he asked, kissing her shoulders after untying her bonds, and then moving down to undo the knots at her legs. "I…I wasn't too rough, was I?" he asked, concern on his face as he held her gaze.

She smiled and shook her head. "No, no, it was…" she blushed and a small giggle bubbled up out of her throat. "It was rather perfect, actually."

He grinned at this, and kissed her left ankle after untying it, before moving to her right. "So you _did_ enjoy it?"

She blushed again, but nodded her head. "Yes…very much," she whispered, feeling very bashful, which was always funny, especially considering the passionate role-play they had just shared. It started as something "completely innocent", when after they had returned from Mary and Matthew's wedding, Sybil revealed she had "snuck" back Tom's livery coat. She then explained how she always thought him so handsome in it, and that when she began to fantasize about him, he was always wearing that jacket, be it kissing her, dancing with her, or…making love to her. That night, he did all of those things, wearing that jacket, and nothing else. As they lay bed recovering, he then asked her what other fantasies she had…and soon, they were both sharing their deepest, and sometimes darkest, fantasies about the other.

This had been one of their darker ones, and it was actually Sybil's. Tom was surprised when she had told him that while she hated the thought of women having to be subjugated to men in everything from politics to the roles they played in the home…she had always wondered what it would be like…to be taken "captive", and be bound and at the mercy of her husband. The key in all these fantasies was trust, of course. And Sybil trusted Tom completely. So when she told him about her fantasy, he couldn't deny he was a little shocked…but at the same time, he couldn't deny he was also aroused at the idea of his beautiful wife…bound and blindfolded and gasping in pleasure. So…after some careful planning, Tom made the arrangements he needed…and left her a note, that simply read,

_Be careful; revolutionaries are attacking and taking prisoners._

Sybil's face burned brightly upon finding the note on the empty pillow next to her in bed. And throughout luncheon she kept nibbling on her lip, wondering when her own revolutionary would be taking her captive. In many ways, it was quite hysterical, listening to both Mary and Edith ask her if "everything was alright?" because she kept jumping at the smallest noise.

It wasn't until after she had come in from taking the baby for a stroll around the gardens, and had put her down for her afternoon nap…that she felt two strong and familiar hands grab her about the waist, and pull her into a darkened room, before growling in her ear, "You're _mine_ now, milady."

A tingling thrill ran up her spine, and she immediately fell into her roll, "struggling" against him as he put a blindfold around her eyes, bound her wrists, and to her surprise, threw her over his shoulder and carried her off to…where were they?

"One of the cottages Matthew has me looking at," he explained as she took in their surroundings. "The mattress is clean, and I brought some sheets and blankets from the house—no doubt Mrs. Hughes is wondering what happened to them, though," he chuckled rather bashfully himself.

"Good gracious!" she looked at him and laughed. "How did you manage to get me out here, without anyone seeing?"

"It was not without some difficulty," he confessed. "But...I wanted to make sure no one would 'interrupt my interrogation," he playfully growled, massaging her right ankle after freeing it.

Sybil groaned and stretched her legs, glad to be free once again, even though she had enjoyed their "game". "My, my, you did pull out all the stops!" she giggled, moving closer to him and wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her naked flesh against his own. Tom picked up one of the blankets and draped it around the both of them.

"Anything for my Lady," he murmured, nuzzling her neck again.

"Mmmmmm…" Sybil purred, loving the feel of his lips on her skin. "We should do this again…"

He lifted his head and gave her a roguish grin. "You've recovered that quickly?" She swatted his chest which only caused him to laugh.

"I mean…these…these games," she murmured, her eyes falling to the hairs on his chest, her fingers playing them and threading through them. "I mean…this was perfect; but they don't have to be as elaborate as this."

He laughed and kissed her lips. "I don't mind," he answered honestly. "And…I'm glad you liked it. I'll admit, I was a little worried in…how to be with you; how to speak, how to act…I didn't want to hurt you, and I didn't want things to…to get out of hand—"

"And I love that about you," she said, holding his face and looking deeply into his eyes. "I told you, I trust you, Tom; and I really do mean it…this…this was rather perfect," she said with a bashful blush, but a loving smile.

He grinned and kissed her again, this time letting their lips linger just a little longer. "Well…as you said, Mrs. Branson," he emphasized after the kiss had ended. "It's your turn next; should I expect to be taken prisoner by aristocracy?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "You mean more so than you already have?" She knew that both her and Tom were making the best, or trying to make the best, of their current situation. They were "trapped" in a manner of speaking, at Downton, and would remain there at least for a little longer, until it was safer to return to their beloved Dublin. But in the meantime, Tom was helping Matthew with running the estate, while trying to find work as a free-lance reporter, while she had just resumed a half-shift at the hospital…and hoped within a few months, she could make it a full-shift. She also hoped that in a few months, before their daughter turned 1, they could find a place of their own.

"Hey…" she felt his hand cup her chin and she looked up at him and felt her heart melt at the love she saw in his eyes. "I'm supposed to be the one who sulks about Ireland, not you," he teased. "Besides…as much as I miss our flat and my family and our friends there…if anything this time here has taught me, my home is with you…and our daughter. No matter where we are…_that's_ home."

She smiled and kissed him again, her heart overflowing with love for this wonderful man. How grateful she was that he had waited, despite her anxieties; how grateful she was that he kept his faith in her, and never stopped loving her, despite the blows she had delivered to his heart in those years he had waited for her answer. Indeed, she had meant what she had said to Mary that night, just before her sister had gotten married; she had no regrets, whatsoever.

"It's getting dark…" Tom remarked, glancing out the window. "We better be getting back before your father demands to know why I'm not in my tux."

"Tell him your wife ripped it off you and it's now lying in shreds on the bedroom floor."

He looked at her with wide eyes and she responded with a devilish smile. "Your father and I have come a long way, love, but I don't think he wants to be reminded that his youngest daughter and I do the sort of thing that results in the birth of his first granddaughter."

"Spoil sport," she teased.

He gave her a look, and then began attacking her with tickles, which had her falling onto her back in a fit of giggles, until he was looming on top of her once again…and she could feel his erection once more rubbing the inside of her thigh.

"Tom!" she gasped. "I thought you said we should get going?"

"I did," he grunted, thrusting into her once again, causing her to gasp in pleasure. "Which means…" he said between thrusts. "We best…not…waste…anymore…time!"

"Quite…so…" she moaned, wrapping her legs around him and drawing him closer, her arms also moving around him as she had yearned to do earlier, her nails scratching down his back as they made love.

After all, she was still a captive to the Revolution; best to do as they say.

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**_To be continued..._**

_Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is ALWAYS appreciated! :oD_


	2. Attending to Her Ladyship

_First off, THANK YOU to the lovely and lively response to this fic ;o) it is fun, to explore this sexy side of Sybil/Tom, and even though there isn't much in the way of plot to this story, sometimes a plot can't help but form...and the same goes for romance (because no matter how smutty the smut gets, Sybil/Tom always have a way of making that smut sweet and romantic too! Hopefully you'll agree!)_

_Anyway, this idea was spawned by a pic I saw on Tumblr where "Tom" is "helping Robert" with his jacket. It just made me wonder, "what if Tom were a valet instead of a chauffeur?" I decided to explore that idea in this chapter, and so here it is! Hope you enjoy and as always, please leave a comment! **HOWEVER...if you're just reading this with the plans of leaving an anonymous negative comment without anything constructive to offer, I will delete it. Don't waste your time reading something you hate, let alone writing something mean and nasty. **Thank you._

_Also, this chapter is in response to some of "across-the-rubicon's" challenges, including "Really Branson, I thought I gave the orders..." *and* DIY. Remember! Rated "M" for a reason!_

* * *

_Chapter Two_

**Attending to Her Ladyship**

It was an innocent gesture, nothing more. In fact she may have missed it completely, had the room not fallen into silence when it had happened.

Aunt Rosamond was coming up from London, and with her was Sybil's cousin, Rose. Sybil hadn't seen Rose in ages, and wasn't quite sure if the girl would remember her, as she had spent a great deal of her time away at school during the War, and Sybil had moved to Ireland shortly after. Now, based on all the recent stories she had heard about her cousin, Sybil was curious to see if Rose really had taken her place as "the family rebel".

They were waiting in the drawing room when it happened. Aunt Rosamond had sent Rose back upstairs, claiming that her gown for the evening was far too…racy. Sybil's curiosity for the gown had grown considerably by this statement! She would have to ask her cousin about it later. As they were sitting in the drawing room, waiting for Rose to return, her father was standing off to the side, groaning about how the lapels of his new dinner jacket kept sticking out. No matter how many times Bates had ironed it, the lapels continued to poke up and out, and it was clearly driving her father crazy.

"Just go upstairs and change jackets!" her mother had hissed at him at one point.

But Sybil knew her father (they were very similar in this respect) and she could tell that the stubbornness had settled in. If he went upstairs and changed jackets, it would be admitting defeat, and that was one thing her father hated doing.

Of course, this meant they all had to sit and suffer, as her father continued to groan and grumble, attempting to smooth the lapels himself. Finally…it became too much for her husband, who was standing just a few steps away from Papa, and without another word, put down his brandy, turned to face his father-in-law, and reached out to smooth the lapels himself, applying some…trick, that he knew, in keeping them down.

The room fell silent, and Sybil lifted her head to see the reason. "Good heavens, what are you—" her father stopped…when he realized that whatever it was that Tom had done, was working. The lapels were staying in place! "How…how did you…?"

"My grandmother was a washer-woman and seamstress; she learned many 'tricks of the trade' and passed them on to all of us; said that even if we were poor, we had no excuse to not look presentable."

A small laugh rolled around the room, and Tom turned and smiled at his wife. Sybil returned the smile…but Lord help her, a new thought suddenly dawned. And now, she desperately wished dinner was over.

It had been a little over a fortnight, since their "adventure" in the abandoned cottage. Tom was still waiting for Sybil to make up her mind on what…game…to play next. The problem was, many of the "games" Sybil had in mind, she wanted to wait until they either had a place of their own…or even better, until her family went to Scotland, leaving both her and Tom in peace.

But now, an idea was forming. And it was causing Sybil to grin, blush, and even squirm a bit throughout dinner. Yes…she couldn't wait until she and her husband could retire for the evening.

She was anxious, yes, and her husband kept giving her odd looks during the meal, yet Sybil put on a polite smile, and attempted to carry on conversation with her cousin as if there was nothing brewing in her head. Sometimes, having to be patient was an aphrodisiac of its own.

"You seemed to have been in a merry mood," Tom remarked later, as they were walking back from the nursery to their bedroom. "What was so amusing?"

Sybil nibbled on her bottom lip, but chose to divert the topic. "What did you think of Rose?" she asked.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "She seemed nice," he answered honestly. "But she reminds me of practically every eighteen-year-old I know or have known; she's desperate to 'escape' the confines of her life that she believes to be truly 'suffocating' her."

Sybil lifted a brow at this. "Was I like that at eighteen?"

Tom couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, you were anxious to go and attend rallies, no matter how dangerous the crowds seemed, as a way to 'escape'," he grinned, opening the bedroom door for her. "But where with some it's just a phase…but with you, it became a lifestyle, going so far as to marry an Irish Republican!"

"Perhaps I'm still going through my phase?" she teased with a little poke of the tongue.

He swatted her rump, causing her to laugh. "Careful, _milady_…or I'll be 'forced' to take you prisoner again."

Sybil turned then and put a rather forceful hand on his chest as he shut the door behind them. "No…remember? It's _my_ turn next…" she said with a devilish grin.

Tom's brows lifted at this; he was very intrigued now. "So _that's_ why you were looking like the cat that had swallowed the cannery…" he grinned. "I must say, I was starting to get worried. We've never gone more than five days without indulging in some sort of play—"

Her finger against his lips silenced him. He simply smiled and gave it a little kiss, tempted to draw it in and nip the tip, but chose to behave himself. After all, as she had said, it was _her_ turn. His mind was racing; what was she going to suggest? Ever since the night they had been in the cottage, he kept waiting; waiting for her to give him some sign or leave some message, anything really. Even when they had made love "the old fashioned way", as they joked, he kept waiting for her to say something…but no. She was waiting for the right moment…and apparently, that moment had finally arrived.

"Oh no…" she put her hands on his wrists, noticing how he was beginning to undo the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt. "You need to stay dressed…Branson."

He lifted an eyebrow, catching the way she had said his surname. So it was going to be _like that_, was it?

"As you wish, milady…" he murmured, wetting his lips and trying very hard to suppress his grin…and his eagerness, which was growing more and more…pronounced.

Sybil smiled and walked over to the vanity near her wardrobe. "I noticed how this evening…you were most helpful to Papa with his dinner jacket…"

Tom bit back his laugh. Was _that_ what had inspired her of all things?

She sat down and began to remove her necklace and earrings. "I must confess…I have sometimes wondered what it would have been like, if you had worked at Downton in a position other than chauffeur…" she continued.

He lifted a brow at this. He had never thought about that, but now his mind was exploring the idea. What if he had been a footman? Or, as he gathered based on what she was telling him…a valet? "It would have been a great deal more complicated," he murmured. "The positive is that I would have seen more of you, being one that worked inside the house…"

She nodded her head, placing the jewelry inside a box on the vanity. "Yes, but it would have been a great deal harder to 'sneak away' and while away the hours in the garage," she added.

At the end of the day, Tom knew he wouldn't have changed the way things had been…and he believed Sybil felt the same way. However, it was an interesting idea…and now it was about to become even more interesting. "So…am I playing valet this evening?"

She smiled and turned to fully face him, her "character" already showing. Sybil had once joked with him that when she was younger, she had fancied the idea of one day becoming an actress. He couldn't help but find the thought amusing; after all, she was very, very good at playing her parts in…their own, personal theatricals.

"Thank you for coming in, Branson," she greeted him, as if he had just walked through the door. Tom smiled, but quickly tried to put on the "stone-face of servitude" that he always saw Bates or Mr. Carson wear, when they were in his Lordship's presence.

"How may I be of service to you, milady?"

Sybil couldn't help but shiver, just a little, at the anticipation she was feeling by those words. "My lady's maid has fallen ill," she continued.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, milady."

She nodded her head, trying to look sad. "Yes, a pity to be sure," she sighed. "So, I will be requiring your assistance, in preparing for bed."

Tom fought the urge to leap forward and begin tugging the dress from her body. No, no, he wanted this to build up, as he was sure she did too. "Me, milady?" he asked, feigning shock at her announcement. "But…but surely one of the housemaids—"

Sybil bit her lip, trying very hard to stay in character. Tom was good; he could have found a home on the stage as well. "No," she announced, trying her best to sound haughty and every bit "Lady of the Manor". "No, Branson; I will require your assistance and yours alone. Is that clear?" she arched an eyebrow as she had often seen her eldest sister do.

Tom stared at her, his eyes boring into hers for a good, long moment, before resolutely sighing and lowering his head. "Yes, milady."

"Good!" Sybil quickly answered, eager to continue their play. "Now…" she held a leg out. "Be so kind as to remove my shoes?"

Tom quietly nodded his head, and obediently fell to his knee before her…taking the extended leg in his hand, his fingers wrapping around the ankle, holding it in such a way, as if he were holding a priceless artifact…and began to undo the buckle.

Sybil nibbled her lip, her breathing beginning to quicken already—and he was only removing her shoe at this point! Lord, what it would be like when she asked him to help her in removing her dress?

"Was it a pleasant evening, milady?"

Sybil was a little surprised by the question. He carefully removed the shoe was now starting on the other, taking her foot and ankle in his hands before she even had the chance to hold it out to him. Oh yes, he's very, very good…

"It was, thank you," she answered, and then a wicked thought crossed her mind. "Although, there was this frightfully arrogant man sitting at the table across from me, who would not stop looking at me!"

"Hmm…" he murmured as he undid the buckle on her other shoe. "Perhaps he was entranced by your beauty?"

She blushed. "Or…perhaps he was having illicit thoughts?"

"Illicit thoughts, milady?"

Sybil nodded her head, watching him as he pulled the shoe from her foot. "Yes…perhaps he was trying to envision me…naked?"

Despite her efforts, Tom remained resolute in his new persona. "That is, indeed, a most illicit thought," he murmured, his fingers still curled in such a way around her ankle, that Sybil couldn't help but moan, especially as she felt his thumb rub circles on the back of her heel.

"Yes, it is…" she replied, trying to once again regain the "upper hand" in this play. "Now…help me with my stockings?"

Tom's eyes widened. "I…are you sure, milady?"

"Of course!" Sybil waved her hand in the air, as if her words were nothing more than a comment on the weather. But instead of helping him by lifting the hem of her dress…she simply leaned back against the vanity…and waited for his hands to rise up her leg, and seek the edge of her stocking.

Tom's eyes held hers. "What of your garters, milady?"

"You best remove those as well," she answered rather cheekily, pressing her stocking-covered foot against his chest, waiting for him to reach up, under her skirt…and free her legs.

Tom's eyes never left hers…as his fingers began their journey, sliding up from her ankles…along her calf-muscle…higher and higher, his body leaning forward, closer to hers, his face coming closer…as his hands continued their assent. Sybil held her breath as his face drew so close…so close that if she leaned forward, their lips would touch, and then she gasped…as she felt his fingers slip around the garter at her thigh…and pull it down, causing him to lean back once again.

He repeated the same process with her other leg, first removing the garter, before gently peeling the stocking from her leg. Sybil was panting, watching his hands disappear beneath her skirt, sliding up the length of her leg, feeling his fingers move over her, knowing he was so close to where her body needed him most…but of course he would stop going any higher; after all, he had only been ordered to help her remove her stockings. Now, both legs were free from their silken confines.

"Thank you, Branson," she murmured, trying to get her breathing back to normal. "Now…" she rose to her feet and turned until her back was to him. "Undo my dress?"

He didn't "protest" this time. "Yes, milady," he murmured, coming up behind her and beginning to undo the snaps at her back. "If…I may be so bold as to say, milady…" he murmured, his breath hot at the back of her neck. Sybil fought the moan that was in her throat, her eyes fluttering closed as she listened to his brogue. "You were the most beautiful woman at the table this evening."

She felt her cheeks flush with color. "That _is_ a bold thing to say," she answered. "Perhaps even bolder…as you are helping me out of my dress."

"Forgive me, milady, I was simply trying to offer a reason as to why the 'arrogant gentleman' to whom you mentioned, kept staring at you."

"Thank you, Branson…" she whispered, as he undid the last clasp. She felt the air touch the skin at her back that was now exposed…as well as the heat of his breath. "But suppose…" she turned to face him. "Suppose I told you that he wasn't a gentleman?"

His eyes widened. "Not a gentleman? Why? Did he say something lude to you in the drawing room after dinner?"

"Oh no, no, nothing of that sort," she assured…turning again and holding her arms out, indicating that she wanted him to help her slide the straps of her dress down her arms. This meant, of course, that his body would have move very close…until he was practically pressed against hers. "No, I just mean…in 'high society's' eyes…he wouldn't be considered a gentleman because of his background, not because of his behavior…"

"Ah," he answered…and Sybil gasped as she felt the lower half of his body touch hers, pressing against the small of her back, as he rolled the straps down her arms…leaving very little to her imagination. "Well…I'm glad to hear that, milady—otherwise I may have felt it necessary to…teach that hooligan a lesson."

She nibbled her lip and took the straps of her dress from his hands, which had lingered on her arms. She carefully turned then to face him, her eyes holding his gaze…as she shimmied the dress down her waist and hips, until it lay in a silken pool on the floor at her feet. "Why Branson…you would do that for me?"

The lust in his eyes was kindling. Sybil had to reach behind her to grip the edge of the dressing table in order to keep her knees from buckling.

"I would do anything for you…my lady…"

She had to swallow the whimper that was trapped in her throat (not to mention stop herself from throwing her arms around his neck and breaking character completely, losing herself in the passion that was threatening to break at any moment). "Why Branson…" she gasped, leaning close until her lips were a breath away from his ear. "I believe you have a crush on me."

Before he could break character and grab her, she quickly maneuvered herself away from the vanity, and crossed the room to where her dressing gown and nightgown were lay. She could feel his eyes upon her body; she only wore a cream-colored slip, and stopped at mid-thigh, and that covered her brassiere and knickers. Shame she didn't wear corsets anymore…_that_ would have been interesting.

Tom cleared his throat, trying to keep the play going, despite the urge to grab her and throw themselves down upon the bed. "Would you like me to help you with your nightdress, milady?"

She turned to look at him, her hands going to her hips and her eyes raking over him. Tom did always look smart in a suit. And while she knew he wasn't completely comfortable in formal attire…he did look very, very handsome in a tux…and she certainly loved the way his dinner jacket clung to his broad, muscular frame.

"Actually…I'm concerned, Branson."

Tom's brow furrowed. "Concerned, milady?"

She nodded her head. "Yes…when you were helping me remove my dress, I must admit…something didn't feel…right."

Her eyes wandered down his body, and Tom couldn't help but groan a little as he noticed the way her eyes rested below his waist…upon a certain part of him that was straining against the fabric and longing to be set free.

"My goodness, Branson, you do seem a little flushed…perhaps you should remove your jacket?"

"But milady," he protested. "It wouldn't be proper; and besides, this is my uniform—"

"Oh really, Branson, I thought I gave the orders?"

She arched an eyebrow at him, and Tom could tell she was trying very hard not to laugh. He couldn't deny that her words caught him by surprise. He remembered, of course, how she had once said this to him, long ago, back when she had tricked him into taking her to Ripon for the count. She was mortified later, and apologized to him, not only for the trick, but for the way she had spoken to him. He had teased her about it as the years went on, especially after they were married, and every so often, it would sneak into their bedroom antics. Tonight, it was rather appropriate…

"Well…?"

He swallowed, and did as she asked, removing the jacket and letting it fall to the ground, beside the dress that had been left there. "Now may I help you with your night dress?"

"Hmmm…" Sybil murmured, her arms now folding across her chest, purposefully doing so in such a way that it caused her breasts to bounce. "No, you still look…hot…" she met his gaze again. "Best that you remove the waistcoat as well…"

His eyes never left hers…as he undid the buttons, and shrugged the waistcoat off his body. She bit her lip as she watched her "valet", strip for her, and leaned back against the wall, enjoying the view very, very much. "Is that better, Branson?"

"Yes, milady." Even though she hadn't "directed" him to do so, his hands were rising to undo his tie.

"Wait!" she pushed herself away from the wall and crossed the room to where he stood. Tom's eyes widened, and a smile began to spread across his face. Had she come to claim her prize? But instead, her hands were at his tie…and she began to loosen it herself. "Allow me," she purred.

Tom groaned and fought the urge to grab her waist or hips. He locked his arms around his back, knowing that was the only sure way to keep his hands from her body. "It is the valet's job to dress and undress his lordship, or in this case…her ladyship…"

"That may be," she murmured, as she pulled at one end of his now loosened bow tie, until it too joined the other pieces of clothing on the floor. "But who dresses and undresses the valet?" She was undoing the buttons at his collar, as well as the first few buttons at the top, just below his throat. He watched with hungry eyes as she began to undo each and every button…all the way down to his waist…

His cock was screaming for release. Or at the very least, for the sweet touch of her fingers…

"Much better…" she purred, her hands moving to his chest…and pushing the fabric away from his shoulders, her fingers now touching his skin, caressing the muscles there. Tom didn't think he could wait much longer. His arms were coming around, ready to enfold her and pull her against him, as his lips parted, and his head began to descend towards hers, but before he could hold her or kiss her…she once again, maneuvered away.

_Little minx,_ he thought, watching her prance away, while he was left to undo the buttons at his wrists, and shrug his shirt off himself. He was harder than ever before.

"That should help with the heat, don't you think?"

No…if anything, it was a great deal hotter now.

"I think I would like to put on my nightdress now, Branson."

_Why?_ Tom couldn't help but wonder. What was the point? He would have her out of it within a few minutes—God willing.

His stride was a little awkward, especially considering the fact that he had to walk with a constricted erection, but went to chair where her nightdress and dressing gown had been laid out, and proceeded to pick up the simple piece of white cotton fabric, something that looked so plain on a hanger…but looked absolutely stunning on Sybil. But then he was biased, after all.

Tom stared as his beautiful lady proceeded to bend over, slightly, gripping the hem of her slip, and proceeded to pull it up and pull it off over her head…stretching her body in such a way, revealing her gorgeous and mouth-watering curves to his eyes, heightened and made all the more beautiful after having their child. "Oh dear…" she sighed in mock frustration. She turned to him then, with a bit of a pout on her lips. "I can't seem to unhook my brassiere!"

Tom remembered the first time he saw her in one. He didn't think it was possible for such a simple piece of clothing to overwhelm him with sexual hunger. She thought it was a miraculous invention, saying how it was ten times more supportive and comfortable than any corset she had ever worn. Tom simply wanted her to tell him how to take it off. Needless to say, he had had a great deal of practice.

"Allow me, milady…" he murmured, trying to suppress the growl in his throat, but not being able to. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this game going. She had barely touched him and yet he was ready to explode!

"Mmmm…thank you," she purred, his fingers purposefully running over her shoulder blades, and pressing against her spine in such a way. It felt wonderful. His fingers finally found the hooks, and slowly, agonizingly (as revenge for her teasing, no doubt) he undid the brassiere. She was about thank him and continue playing the coquette, crossing her arms in front of her chest to keep the undergarment from falling away, but Tom was faster…his own arm moving around her, causing her to gasp…as his forearm pressed itself against her breasts, keeping the brassiere in place…while his free hand slid the brassiere strap down her arm.

"Didn't want you to catch cold, milady…" he all but growled in her ear. He pressed his forearm against her breasts for effect, her nipples achingly hard. Cold? With him so close? She was more likely to faint from heat exposure.

"That…that was very thoughtful of you…" she panted, whimpering softly as he switched arms…holding the cursed brassiere against her body with his other forearm…while he slid the other strap down her arm. Once again, his body was right next to hers, and Sybil moaned as he pressed his hips against her back, his erection making itself very known, against her backside.

"My pleasure, my duty…" he whispered, his lips brushing near her lobe. "Ever your servant…"

Sybil swore her knees were about to buckle. Tom would catch her, of course, and then proceed to carry her to the bed, bringing about the climax of their game…in more ways than one. But she wasn't ready to stop playing, just yet.

"My…I need my nightdress…"

"No you don't, Sybil," he groaned, completely breaking character now. "Let me finish undressing you and show you just how much I _love_ to serve my lady…"

His lips were against her neck and Sybil was gasping, as his hands rose up around her body, both of them cupping her breasts, pushing the fabric away and letting his fingers rub and pinch her nipples. His lower body continued to grind against her backside, and Sybil gasped as she felt his hardness throb with need against her. Not to mention her knickers were becoming terribly uncomfortable…and that all too familiar ache was growing in her core…spreading throughout her body, screaming for release, screaming for him…

"I…I need to stroke my hair…"

Tom lifted his head, looking confused. Stroke her hair?

That brief moment of confusion was enough for Sybil to spin out of his arms, grab her dressing gown, and throw it over her body, thus shielding her semi-nude flesh from his eyes. She then proceeded to sit down at her vanity once again, and picked up a hairbrush.

Tom stared at her. Was she serious? She was going to…brush her hair? _Now?_

Perhaps this was still part of the play?

"Would you…like me to brush your hair for you, milady?" When her hair was longer, before she had it cut to fit the style of the times, Tom loved to sit behind her and help her take the pins out, and run his fingers through it. He still enjoyed running his fingers through it, but of course it was different now…much less of a hassle. Still, perhaps it was something he, as "her Ladyship's valet", should be doing?

However, Sybil surprised him when she looked up at him with a sweet, innocent smile, and simply said, "Oh no, I'll stroke my hair, Branson…however, I do believe you need to take care of stroking something else."

His eyes practically leapt from their sockets at her words. Did she…did she just say…just suggest…?

"You don't look very comfortable," she commented, her eyes falling once again to that portion of himself that was straining and longing for freedom from the confines of his trousers. "Perhaps you should remove them?"

She said the words as if she were offering helpful advice…but the look in her eyes told him to remove his trousers that second, or else. He was tempted to see what the "or else" would be, but he decided to obey his mistress in this case. She twirled the brush in her hands…as she watched him undo the belt…followed by the snaps of his trousers. He kicked off his shoes and his fingers lingered for the breath of a moment on the waistband…waiting for her to give him any last minute orders. "Free yourself…" she whispered, her voice low and commanding. Her eyes were glued to his body, and Tom couldn't help but groan at the hunger in saw in their depths. God, her look alone could make a man spend himself. "Oh!" she gasped, which he couldn't help but smile at, as with a deep breath, he pushed the offending trousers down his body, along with his drawers…leaving himself exposed, naked, and very, very hard.

"Oh my…" Sybil whispered, staring at him as his body throbbed and pulsed and practically seemed to be stretching towards her. He wasn't sure if she was still in character or not, but he prayed that either way, she would soon let the two of them have what they both desperately wanted…and needed.

"My lady approves?" he couldn't help but tease, giving her a little wink when her pink cheeks and wide eyes snapped up to him.

She smirked. "Very…" she then picked up her brush. "Now…as I stroke my hair…you will also stroke."

She was serious. Earlier, a part of him thought this was all just an elaborate way of getting him to remove his trousers, but now…he realized she really wanted him to…

He had never done this before. Well, yes, he had done _that_ before, in fact there was a time when that had been how he had gotten through the long nights while he waited in his cottage for her answer, but…but he had never…done that _with her, watching!_

"Please, Tom?" she asked, smiling up at him, breaking her character to ease any anxiety he was feeling about the idea.

_We've shared so much of ourselves with one another,_ he thought. _She's given me her body and I've given her mine. We know one another's deepest fears, greatest hopes, and we've seen each other at our worst, and yet we still love each other. So…why not share this too? _

He swallowed, nodded his head to her words, and with a deep breath…his eyes never leaving hers, he moved his hand down his body, until it finally reached its destination, and his fingers wrapped around his hard length.

Sybil's eyes widened at the sight. She had always wondered about what it would look like, watching her husband pleasure himself. She couldn't deny she found the idea incredibly erotic; in some ways, even more erotic than touching him, herself. Now he was doing it, standing and holding himself, and she was staring like a wide-eyed school girl who had just stumbled across a book filled with naughty pictures.

"Well, milady?" he murmured, waiting for her instruction.

Sybil had to literally shake her head. "Yes…um…" she lifted her brush to her hair, and began to stroke it…and she watched with wide eyes…as he began to stroke himself.

Oh God…he was doing it.

Tom groaned and held her gaze, as his hand began to slide up and down his length.

Sybil kept looking up at him…and then her eyes would fall to his hand, and she would watch, fascinated, as he stroked. However, he wouldn't move if she didn't move—so she would find herself furiously brushing her hair, practically whispering the strokes out loud, just so he would continue stroking himself.

His eyes were beginning to flutter closed, as his strokes began to increase.

"Does that feel good, Branson?" she asked, her own voice breathless, and once again in character.

"Yessss…" he groaned, his pace increasing. "Very…very good, milady."

Sybil bit her lip as she stared…her brush becoming obsolete as he continued stroking himself. "What do you think about…when you touch yourself like this?"

He grunted. "You, milady…" he groaned.

Sybil practically moaned at the thought. She began to tug at the sash of her dressing gown. "And…do you imagine my hands?"

His eyes were squeezed closed, and he simply nodded his head, the pleasure of what he was doing, and what he was thinking, evident across his handsome face.

"What else?" she breathlessly asked, quickly wriggling her knickers down her body.

He was starting to pant as he continued stroking himself, harder…faster. "Your body…" he moaned. "Your mouth…your breasts…everything…"

She shrugged the dressing gown off. "Do you imagine making love to your lady, Branson?"

"YES!" he all but roared, his eyes flying open, and without warning, he ceased his strokes, and reached for her, pulling her to him and crushing her mouth with his own in a fierce, desperate kiss of passionate hunger.

She didn't fight him. It was time for them both to give in to what they needed. Her hands clung to his body, wrapping around him, her fingers threading in his hair, pulling his head even closer to hers, her mouth open and moaning as his tongue found hers and sucked it deep into his own mouth. They kissed and moaned and attempted to move to the bed, practically falling atop it. Sybil's hands pushed against his chest, until he was flat on his back, and he groaned her name as she straddled his body, her hand reaching down, finding his cock and stroking it just as he had done, making him even harder, if that was possible.

Not to be outdone, Tom reached between her legs, his fingers finding her moist center and she gasped as he pushed one inside her, while his thumb brushed the sensitive nub. She looked at him and with her eyes never leaving his, she guided his cock to her entrance…and gasped, as she sank her body down his length, until he was completely sheathed inside her.

"Sweet Jesus!" he swore, his head falling back as he felt the hot muscles of her body squeeze and caress him, drawing him even deeper as she began to move, her palms flat on his chest, as she lifted herself up and down. "Yessssssss…" he growled, his hands going to her waist, and then her hips, guiding her, helping her find her rhythm. "Sybil…"

"Yes!" she gasped, her pace increasing, her strokes becoming faster, and a little more erratic as she rode her beloved's body. "Tom…so good…so good!"

Yes it was. Tom groaned and lifted his hands to squeeze and caress her breasts that bounced over his head. His own hips began to lift off the bed, meeting each stroke, each movement, filling her just as she was grounding down on him. He could feel the climax building…their bodies moving rapidly together, each searching, yearning for that pleasurable release that brought stars shining before their eyes.

"Sybil…" he groaned, his hands moving behind her back. "I…I'm going to…"

"Yes! I…I…" she nodded her head, words unable to form themselves, but he knew what she meant. His hands moved up her back, to her head, wrapping in her hair, pulling her head down, bringing her lips to his, and as soon as they met, the pleasure roared between their bodies, crashing over like waves against the rocks. He held her tight as the spasms swept, crushing her body to his, his mouth still kissing her, never letting her go.

Sybil clung to him, her limbs and body screaming in pleasure as the waves flowed through her. Even after the last one passed, she didn't let go of him. She never would. "Tom…" she whimpered against his mouth. "Oh God…that…that was…"

"Good?" he teased, his own body still trembling from the intensity of their lovemaking.

Sybil grinned and nodded her head, before hiding her hot face against his shoulder. He loved that about her; she was not afraid to take control and tell him what she liked, but she could always show that adorable bashfulness afterward. It only made him want to kiss her even more, which was exactly what he did, rolling them over until he was lying atop her and letting his lips ravish hers.

They lay like that for a long time, their bodies still joined, as well as their lips, kissing and making little moans and whimpers. Finally, Tom rolled away back onto his back, and Sybil snuggled against his side, her head nestled in its usual place in the crook of his arm.

"And to think…that was all inspired by me simply helping your father with his jacket," he laughed. "I suppose I should thank him the next time we speak."

"Don't you dare," she muttered, attempting to swat his chest, which of course earned another laugh from her husband.

"So…a valet, hmmm?" he continued teasing, wiggling his eyebrows just slightly.

"Well, you must admit, it is a curious thing to imagine," she murmured, her hand seeking his, and their fingers entwining atop his chest. "I mean…how much more difficult would that have been? You being an indoor servant…the two of us sleeping under the same roof…only separated by a few floors—"

"Oh God," he groaned. "Mr. Carson would have sacked me ages ago," he chuckled. "That was the perk of having the cottage to myself; no one would have been able to hear me when I'd—

"Really?" she asked, sitting up and looking down at him with mischievous grin, loving how his cheeks flushed as he realized what he was revealing. "And…how often was this?"

"How long did I wait?" he answered. "So take that number, and multiply it by ten."

She swatted his chest and he laughed, pulling her on top of him so she was lying flush against his chest. "But I've said before, many, many times—you were worth the wait."

She grinned and kissed his chin. "I must admit…that was rather…" she blushed and he knew what she was talking about.

"At first I was nervous…but…I must admit as well, I rather enjoyed it, too."

"So…" her fingers played with the hairs on his chest. "Would you be willing to do that again?"

He arched a brow at her. "Would you?"

Her eyes went wide. "You mean…would I…?" her cheeks glowed even pinker, and Tom grinned back at her.

"It's only fair, love," his fingers tangled in her hair again and he brought her mouth back to his. "And…it's my turn next…" he growled against her lips.

She moaned as he kissed her. "So…does that mean I should expect a certain request?"

"Perhaps," he whispered, loving that he was making her squirm with anticipation and curiosity. "You'll just have to wait and see…"

* * *

_**Happy Valentine's Day!**_


	3. No Holding Back

_UPDATE AT LAST! Thanks so much for all the support and lovely feedback! This chapter, I cannot deny, gets very naughty. I wanted to do a "callback" to before Sybil and Tom's marriage, imagining that there must have been a few times where poor Branson found it very...difficult...to keep himself from unleashing his passion. So that is the "roleplay" of this chapter, but for those of you who read the last chapter, where there was some male DIY, in this one, it's Sybil's turn! So just be aware that this chapter contains "female DIY". _

_Oh, and just in case you're wondering, the timeline of this story follows a slightly different timeline to what happened on the show (but that's the beauty of the AU!) Basically, it's 1921 (late spring/early summer at this point) Mary *is* pregnant, BUT Edith has not yet had her wedding (and in my universe, Sir Anthony does not jilt her at the altar; they do get married, simple as that, it just hasn't happened yet). Just wanted to clear that up :oP ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy! I'm dedicating this chapter to the amazing **Peachdreamsandperseus**-congrats on your exams, my dear! Here's hoping for great results!_

* * *

_Chapter Three_

**No Holding Back**

The boys were being naughty. At least those were the words her mother had used.

Sometimes, after dinner, when the women retired to the drawing room and the men were left to smoke and drink brandy (a ridiculous old-fashioned practice that Sybil never saw the point of), Matthew and Tom would instead, retreat to the billiard room for a "short game" that was never truly short.

Tonight had been such a night, and Sybil was sent to go and fetch them. In many ways, she wished she could retreat to the billiard room with her husband and brother-in-law (she had snuck down there a few times when he was younger, and thought herself "decent" at the game). Things were beginning to get a little too comfortable at Downton. Her mother loved having all of her daughters under one roof again—or at least close by (Edith would of course become mistress of Loxley and go to live there, but it was still quite close). Yet Sybil missed Dublin, and she knew her husband felt the same. At the very least, she missed the independence they had both created for themselves in Dublin, where they didn't have to follow all these old Downton rules, such as dressing for dinner or the women leaving the men to cigars and brandy…or in this case, billiards. Yes, she would have to speak with both her father and brother-in-law about the possibility of letting the two of them, and their daughter, move into one of the restored cottages. She had a feeling, however, that her biggest adversary to the idea of "moving out" of Downton would be her own mother.

The door to the billiard room was open ajar. Sybil slowed her footsteps as she listened to the two men talking…and she all but froze and held her breath, when she began to pick up certain pieces of their conversation.

"…I was completely surprised! I mean…don't misunderstand me, I…I'm _not_ complaining—"

"What man in his right mind would?" Tom chuckled.

Matthew's laugh soon joined that of her husband's. "But there are times when Mary will wake me in the middle of the night and demand—" he paused and cleared his throat. "Well, as I said, I'm not complaining, it's just…surprising, in some ways…" he paused and Sybil had to lean close to catch what he was saying, as he lowered his voice. "Forgive me, I know this is personal, but…when Sybil was… expecting…was she…?"

Her cheeks flooded with color. What were they talking about?

Tom, however, gave a rich chuckle. "All I will say is…I am a very, very happy man."

Good Lord! Were they…discussing what she thought they were discussing?

"I just…I never expected that to be something that would happen during…" Matthew paused again, but she heard both men chuckle, perhaps a little nervously in an effort to be discrete. She supposed she couldn't fault Tom too much; after all, she would be lying if she said she had never had similar discussions with either of her sisters, especially since Edith had some questions in "what to expect" on one's wedding night.

"In some ways I can't believe that it's real," Matthew sighed. "Everything, being with her, married to her, having a child…" he sighed again, but Sybil could hear the happiness in his voice. It made her smile, because she knew Mary was just as happy. "And after waiting for so long…" he groaned and chuckled at the same time.

"Aye, _that_ I can understand," Tom replied, his voice also light and warm.

"Oh Lord, forgive me, Tom, of course you—"

"It's alright," her husband reassured, which made Sybil smile. "I once told Sybil I would wait forever…and I still mean that; there was never a doubt in my mind."

Sybil felt her heart swell at her husband's sweet words. He truly was a poet.

"No one could ever doubt the love you two share," Matthew murmured, which brought tears to Sybil's eyes. She was not ashamed of any of the choices she had made for her future, and she was glad she showed it when she was around her husband.

"But Tom…I…forgive me, but…I've always been curious…"

Sybil's ears perked up at this.

"How…how were you able to…" poor Matthew seemed unsure in how to phrase his question. He took a deep breath and tried to continue again. "I know, this is extremely forward of me, and you have every right to tell me to…well, to _stuff it_, or something along those lines, but…how were you able to…to control yourself?"

Sybil's eyes widened. Good gracious! She wasn't sure if she was shocked or amused by her brother-in-law's question. She also couldn't deny that she was most eager to hear her husband's response.

Tom sighed and there was a long pause before he spoke again, after the sound of the billiard stick striking a ball. "I won't deny that there were moments when it was very…_difficult_…"

Sybil felt her cheeks enflame at his words. She could only imagine what moments he was referring to. Before or after she accepted his proposal and told him she loved him?

"…Sometimes, when she would come to the garage, and it would be just the two of us…I…I had to make sure the car was between our bodies so I wouldn't give in to the urge…" he paused and cleared his throat. "…Let's just say I learned to master the art of…patience…during those years."

"Indeed," Matthew answered. "I don't know how you managed, Tom; at least during Mary and mine's engagement I was living down in the village. But you were only so many yards away—"

"Exactly," Tom groaned, and Sybil bit her lip at the sound, trying to stifle the giggle that was bubbling in her throat. She knew that sound very well…and could only imagine what her husband was thinking that would cause him to make it.

"But those days are behind us!" Tom said, sounding happy and relieved, before striking another ball on the billiard table. "Thank God," he muttered under his breath.

Their conversation changed then, and Sybil decided that now was the time to interrupt and draw them back to join the others. She noticed how both Tom and Matthew, but especially Tom, looked a little flushed when she made her presence known, but she simply smiled sweetly upon them both, gave them a playful scolding for sneaking away, before taking Tom's arm and following Matthew back to the drawing room, where the evening resumed as per normal, after dinner at Downton.

As soon as they bid their goodnights to everyone, and briefly peeked in to see their daughter sleeping, Sybil took Tom by the hand and led him back to their room, where she proceeded to undress him and encourage him to make love to her, which he was very willing to oblige. Afterwards, while they lay in the darkened shadows, panting and recovering, Tom turned to her and asked if everything was alright.

Sybil was surprised by this question. "Of course!" she reached out and caressed his cheek. "Why ever do you ask?"

He took her fingers in his and gave them a sweet kiss. "I don't know, you just seemed…I wouldn't say distant, by no means were you distant," he couldn't help but blush as she purred and pressed her body closer to his. "But…something was on your mind, I could tell…"

Sybil giggled rather mischievously. Tom arched a brow at the sound. "You're keeping a secret from me…" he softly accused, his arms snaking around her again.

"Of course not!" she gasped, in feigned shock.

"Sybil…"

"Well, even if I was…" she sighed rather dramatically, "It's only because I have a…plan, forming…"

Now he was very intrigued. "A plan?" he asked, rolling her over onto her back and looming over her, his body nestled between her legs, only a thrust away from rejoining her again. "Will you be sharing your plan with me?"

She grinned and gave a little movement of her hips, causing his flesh to sink inside once again. He groaned and she gasped, as he took her invitation to thrust all the way in, until he was completely buried to the hilt. "You'll just have to wait…and see…" she promised, her arms coming around his neck and guiding his mouth to her own once more.

* * *

She had a half-day shift at the hospital, which meant she was home by the midafternoon. No doubt Tom was out working with Matthew; he had mentioned something to her that morning about the two of them and her father going and speaking with Sir Anthony about the latest farming equipment, in Matthew's efforts to "modernize" Downton. She only hoped her father hadn't gone simply to play devil's advocate to his sons-in-laws.

After spending a few hours in the nursery with her daughter, she eventually made her way downstairs, wondering if anyone else was about. She found both of her sisters in the drawing room, having tea. "Ah! You're back!" Edith greeted. "Come and sit with us!"

Sybil entered the room, but looked a little confused. "I thought you were both going to York?" Yes, if memory served, she recalled Mary mentioning something about wanting to look at things for the nursery, while Edith wanted to get a few more things for the honeymoon.

Mary rolled her eyes and groaned. "So had we," she sighed. "But apparently the engine is having trouble."

Sybil's brow furrowed. "The Renault?"

Edith nodded. "Pratt isn't sure why it's having trouble. It completely confounds him, apparently. Tom is having a look at it now."

Sybil had been about to pour herself a cup of tea, but paused at these words. "Tom's out in the garage?"

Mary nodded after taking a sip. "All of the men returned after luncheon. Matthew and Papa went back to Loxley with Sir Anthony, but Tom stayed behind to have a look at the car."

"Pratt took the other car to take Mama to Cousin Isobel's," Edith added.

"Yes, something to do with one of her charities," Mary concluded.

After the debacle with Downton's finances, her father had sold all but two of his cars. It was just as well; he didn't really use the others as much as the Renault. But what had caught Sybil's attention were her sister's revelation that Tom was out there, working just as he had done all those years, before they were married, when they were still two people pining for one another.

"Poor Tom," Edith sighed. "I took him some tea just before you came in here, curious to see how it was going. He was covered in motor oil from the waist up, and had a tear in one of his sleeves! He was very frustrated."

Sybil's eyes widened at this, but the images that were coming to her mind did bring about feelings of sympathy. No, they brought about feelings a very different nature.

Tom…his powerful hands, his long fingers, his muscular forearms…covered in motor oil. It brought a blush to her cheek, she could not deny, but the thought of her husband…sweaty and dirty…it did cause her to squirm ever so slightly.

"I hope he washes himself before coming back into the house," Mary muttered under her breath. "He can leave his dirty clothes in the garage; and use water from the chauffeur's cottage to bathe."

Sybil did her best to suppress an eye roll. Mary had come very far from how she had once been with Tom, yet there was still enough of snobbish Crawley blood in her to bring out her own inner dowager.

But Mary's words did provide Sybil with an idea. One that merged with the idea she had been forming the other night, after overhearing Tom and Matthew's conversation in the billiard room. She grinned at the thought…and found herself thanking whatever power had caused the Renault to have engine problems.

"Well, I should go and take him a clean set of clothes then," Sybil announced, rising from her chair. "And I'll be sure to pass on to him that he may use the chauffeur's cottage."

If Mary and Edith had detected that she was up to something, they didn't say anything. They murmured a few words to her about seeing her at dinner, and then Sybil turned and dashed up the stairs to her and Tom's room. She found the set of clothes for him to wear very easily; but it was her own attire that would take some attention. She grinned as she peeled her nurse's uniform off and began redressing.

Her husband didn't know it yet, but she was about to make a fantasy from his past, come true…

* * *

Tom bit back a curse as he struggled with twisting the wrench in his hands. Good grief, what had Pratt done do these cars? They were piss-poor condition, or they certainly seemed to be that way ever since he left. He shook his head, and tried to twist the wrench again, muttering more obscenities as the oil made it difficult to tighten and loosen the bolts he was working on. He was on the verge of calling it quits; he thought he had the problem figured out, but despite his knowledge and training in how motors and engines work, he had a feeling that the car would need the sort of repair handled at a shop. Great, he could just see himself trying to explain that to his father-in-law. He lifted his head from the bonnet, reaching for the rag he had been using to wipe the sweat from his face; only problem was that the rag was covered in oil and no doubt would leave streaks of the dark stuff on his brow and neck. But he didn't care, nor did he care if he was a frightening sight to behold. He was finished, at least for the time being. With a groan he straightened himself, his lower back aching from having been bent over all this time, frowning at the tears in his sleeves and the stains on his shirt. He was so preoccupied…that he didn't hear the footsteps entering the garage behind him…at least not until the door had clicked shut.

Tom turned then, thinking perhaps it was one of his sisters-in-laws, but instead, his eyes widened and his mouth practically fell open at the sight of his wife…dressed elegantly in one of her "older gowns", reminiscent of when she had come to him before they were married. So clear was that memory that he found himself murmuring the same words he had said to her then…

"You look very fine…"

Sybil smiled and ran her hands down the fabric of her dress, just as he remembered her doing. "They're from my time before the War," she repeated, just as she had said to him then, well over a year ago. "I'm wearing them out…"

God she was beautiful. The dress looked a little snugger than it had before, but he didn't mind. In truth, he loved her curves—had always loved them—but he loved how her pregnancy had enhanced them, making her hips, waist, and breasts a little fuller, more rounded, even more mouth-watering than before, if that was possible. He was so transfixed in looking at her, taking in her beauty, that he completely forgot how horrible he must look at this moment.

"Gracious, Branson, you're covered from head to foot in oil!"

_ Branson?_ Tom's brow furrowed slightly. He looked down at himself and suddenly felt a little self-conscious. "Beggin' your pardon, milady," he murmured back, putting on a smile for how she had referred to him, even though he was still a little confused. He glanced out the garage windows, taking note of the sky. It was too early for dinner; why was Sybil dressed so?

"It's alright," she said with a bit of a girlish smile. "I just…came here because…" she paused and looked down at her feet, her hands once again playing with the edges of her skirt. Tom's brow furrowed again as he watched her. The way she was acting seemed…rather…coquettish. "I missed you…" she murmured, glancing up at him through her lowered lashes, a look that always caused Tom's throat to tighten…as well as other things. "Where have you been all day?"

Tom was taken aback slightly by her question. She had asked him that same question over a year ago, in this very place, when he had similarly been hunched over a car (only a bit cleaner than he was now). He also noticed that the way she spoke was different to how she spoke now; as if…as if she were trying to sound younger, which sounded odd, simply because she was young (barely twenty-five) and yet…the somewhat timid tone in her voice, the girlish-nervousness, the blush on her cheek and the way she looked down whenever his eyes met hers, before glancing up at him through her thick lashes…

…Like how a girl who was in love with someone…but didn't quite know how to tell them.

And the words with which she spoke…and the way she was dressed…suddenly he found himself transported back to when he was still Downton's chauffeur, and he was still waiting to hear her answer. He remembered feeling frustrated at the time, because he knew deep in his heart that she returned his feelings, but at the same time he told himself, over and over, to be patient with her, to wait…just as he had told her he would. He would wait forever, if that was what it would take. But thank God it hadn't; thank God she had told him that she loved him, that she wanted to marry him; thank God that they were married! Yes, thank God indeed for that, because he remembered, as he had spoken to Matthew the night before, there were times when it was very difficult to not reach out and unleash the passion that was pent-up inside him.

Suddenly a realization struck him.

"_I have a…plan, forming…"_

His wife's words. When he had asked her last night what she had been thinking, and she didn't supply him an answer, she simply told him to wait and see…

Good God…was…was this what she had meant? His eyes widened suddenly as another realization struck him. How long had she been standing there outside the billiard room? How much of his conversation with Matthew had she heard?

The puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place…

"Nowhere…" he finally answered, his eyes watching her face for a reaction. "I've just been busy…"

She blushed, and he thought he saw something flash in her eyes, like a pleased expression. Did she remember that conversation just as much as he had?

Sybil sighed, and nibbled on her bottom lip. "Oh Branson, I envy you…" she took a few steps towards him, but still keeping a bit of distance between them.

"Envy me…milady?" he asked, arching a brow at her words. That pleased look flashed in her eyes once again. Ah, so this was a part of her game. Tom couldn't help but grin a little; he loved watching her blush, and memories of standing there, talking to her younger self, while trying to keep a cool, level head, came back to him like flipping through pages of a book. I wonder…how far as she intend…?

"Yes," Sybil murmured, looking down again. "My family…all they can talk about is how glad they are for things to go back to how they used to be, before the War," she sighed, somewhat dramatically. "But…all I could think about was how I want so much more from this life!"

"Aye," he added, biting his own lip as he watched her. He was still holding the oily rag, and twisting it slightly in his hands. "And…what are you going to do about that?" He decided to try something, to see how she would react. He took a possessive step forward, and lowered his voice. "Will you runaway to Ireland with me?"

"BRANSON!" she gasped, backing away until she hit the worktable just to the side of the garage door. Tom couldn't help but wonder if she had backed into it on purpose. "I…I…this is hardly the time…or the place to ask such questions!"

He couldn't help but chuckle at her feigned shock. He took a few more steps towards her, deliberately trying to look large and looming as he approached.

"I think it's the perfect time…" he growled, lowering his voice again. "I think that's why you came here…because you are in love with me."

"I…I…" she gasped, her hands gripping the edges of the table as he drew closer. "Just…just because I don't want you to lose your job…or…or because I asked you to stay…doesn't mean I—OH!"

"I've heard these excuses," he interrupted, until he was just a few inches away. Sybil gasped again as his hands came forward, stretched out and now braced on either side of the table…completely surrounding her. "And I'll give you the same answer I gave you then…'well doesn't it'?"

He was leaning closer, and she put a hand out against his chest, as if to stop him. "Branson…we…we can't! I mean…" she looked at his state. "You'll get me dirty."

He looked deep into her eyes and saw the true emotion within their depths. Despite the words she had just spoken, he could tell that she was practically begging for him to touch her, and God help him, he wanted to. Every time she came into that garage throughout the years, every time when it was just the two of them, there had been an urge he tried to suppress, an urge that longed for release, to feel her body against his, to kiss her senseless, to pick her up and carry her to the backseat of the Renault, or…as they were now, to this worktable, and awaken the passion he knew lay dormant within her. But he didn't want to frighten her, he didn't want to alarm her or come across as some mindless, lustful beast. He had to practice steady self-control, and so he did…and by some miracle (or so it seemed at times) he had managed to suppress those desires and keep them at bay.

But now…with her here before him, talking to him as she had done all those years ago, he realized that she was bringing to life that "missed opportunity"; that moment when he didn't have to suppress himself, where the question "what if?" could be explored.

He didn't have to hold himself back.

"OH!" she gasped when his hands, oily and dirty, grabbed a hold of her waist and hoisted her up onto the table. Before she could say anything further, he had moved into the space between her legs, his hands falling to her thighs, purposefully push them apart, spreading her legs, causing the skirt of her dress to hitch up even further, as he moved closer, his body now pressing against hers.

"Kiss me," he growled, his face now only a few inches away.

She stared up at him with wide eyes, her body trembling...but it wasn't because of fear. Tom saw the desire in the blue-gray depths, as well as the excitement at their latest game.

"I…I don't know how…" she whispered, shyly looking down. "I…I've never—"

"Then I'll teach you," he vowed, moving in and claiming her mouth before she had finished her sentence.

"MMMMMMMM!" Sybil moaned as his lips roughly moved over hers, the kiss wild and passionate, deepening instantly, his tongue running across her lips, claiming her own tongue when her mouth quickly opened to grant him access. One hand was at the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the strands of her hair, bringing her mouth closer and closer, devouring her lips, sucking her tongue, while his own tasted the sweet secrets of her mouth.

Her own hands were flailing at her sides, as if she had no idea what to do with them or where to place them. _She's truly acting like a woman whose never been kissed!_ He remembered their first kiss, and how awkward it had been at first, but Sybil had clung to him then. Her hands hand clutching the fabric of his shirt, before weaving around his neck to draw him closer. This was different; here, she was acting like a woman taken completely by surprise…but based on the moans she made and the whimpers he heard in her throat, he could tell she was enjoying it.

"Oh!" she gasped again, when his mouth finally released hers. "Oh my…" she moaned, looking up at him with flushed cheeks, her eyes large and hidden beneath her lashes in a bashful expression, her lips swollen from being kissed. God, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly, his flesh was screaming for release.

"How was your first kiss, milady?" he asked with a devilish smile.

Sybil blushed and looked away. "I…I never knew…" she whispered, before turning and looking back at him. "I…I never knew anything could feel so…amazing."

He smiled at that, and despite the persona he was playing, he felt his heart soar at the sweetness of her statement.

"I can make you feel amazing in other ways too, milady…"

Sybil's eyes widened again, and her cheeks seemed to glow even pinker at his words. "Oh Branson, I…we…we mustn't—"

"I say we must…" he growled, his leaning closer.

"We shouldn't!"

"I say we should…" his lips were only a few inches away from her own.

"But…but your so…" she looked down at his hands, which had left stains on her dress, the oil covering all of his forearms and halfway to his biceps.

"Dirty?"

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat and looking at him again, through hooded lashes. God, he never realized how seductive such a look could be, until he met Lady Sybil Crawley.

"But I think…" his lips moved in and claimed her neck, causing Sybil to gasp and throw her head back, giving him more access to nibble and taste the delicate flesh. "You want to be dirty…"

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!" she whimpered as his teeth nibbled and sucked at that special spot on her neck that he knew drove her mad.

While he kissed her neck, dragging his lips, tongue, and teeth across her skin, his hands—his dirty, oily hands—began to run over her body…starting at her waist...squeezing her hip…before running higher up her body, until he was just below her breasts. He lifted his head away and watched her as his dirty hands now moved across the fabric that covered her breasts, squeezing them and causing her to gasp and whimper, her body arching to his touch, so they could both feel more. "See?" he growled. "You like being dirty…"

"Branson…" she panted as he rubbed her nipples through the fabric. His mouth watered with desire to taste them, to suck them, to make her scream even louder in pleasure. Her hands were clutching at the table, at the wall behind her, and sometimes they were flailing in the air at her sides. But she still somehow resisted touching him.

_She's very good_, he found himself thinking again. His Sybil was quite the actress, and he always wondered if she couldn't have been nurse, if she would ever have considered taking a role on the London stage? Of course, two could play at this…

"Alright…" he sighed, removing his hands and lowering them to his sides. Sybil's eyes flew open and she looked at him with confusion. He had managed to turn the tables and surprise her now. "I won't get you dirty—or at least any dirtier than I've already gotten you," he chuckled.

Sybil opened her mouth to protest, but he lifted a finger, his gaze holding hers…and growing darker with desire as he spoke.

"So…you will have to follow my commands…and touch yourself for me."

Her eyes widened even more at his words. Tom couldn't help but smirk at the expression she wore. He remembered that night where he had played "valet" to her, and she had more or less ordered him to "stroke" himself. It had been incredibly erotic, and ever since that night all he could think about was watching her do the same. Now was his opportunity.

"This will help me, milady…" he coaxed. "I'll be able to learn and understand what my lady likes…and how I can better serve her…"

"Tom…" she whimpered, breaking character momentarily. Her cheeks were so red in her bashfulness, that he realized she wasn't acting just now. He didn't want her to feel embarrassed, or ashamed, so he leaned forward then, breaking character as well, and kissed her gently, tenderly, his lips lingering against hers, praying that the kiss told her it was alright, that he loved her and there was nothing to be ashamed of between the two of them.

To his relief, he felt her relax as they kissed, her hands finally moved up to touch his shoulders, which were surprisingly clean, compared to the rest of him. She gave a slight push at his shoulders, and eased herself away, a sweet, bashful smile on her lips, but he could see that she was more relaxed now…and that despite her initial feelings of embarrassment, she was willing to share this intimacy with him.

"What should I do?" she whispered, her fingers already gripping the edges of her skirt…and pulling it a little higher.

Tom groaned as his eyes were drawn to the sight, but he shook his head, wanting to start elsewhere first. "Lean back, milady…" he murmured, to which she obeyed, her head and back touching the wall behind her. "First…run your fingers across your neck…your throat…down to where your dress starts…"

She nodded her head…and he watched with an ache in his groin as her hands began to do just that…as they ran over the skin of her neck…up and down the creamy flesh…and then across her throat, a soft moan radiating from it while they played across the smooth surface…and then lower…to where the neckline of her gown rested…the tips of her fingers disappearing, just slightly, into the crevice that was her cleavage.

God, he was harder than he could have imagined! And she had yet to touch herself—

His thoughts were jolted, as Sybil closed her eyes…and moaned, while without him telling her…began to push the fabric of her neckline down…until one of her round, full breasts was freed for his eyes to devour. _Little minx didn't even wear a slip_, he realized. The thought simply made him smile.

"Touch yourself," he commanded. "Cup your breast…squeeze the flesh…"

Sybil whimpered, but did as he said. Tom groaned as he watched her beautiful fingers touch the very skin he ached to be touching himself. Her hand cupped the breast, and he held his breath as he watched her squeeze it, causing a whimper to escape her lips. "Oh Branson…" she moaned. "Yesssssssssss…"

"Are you imagining me touching you, love?"

Her eyes were still closed and she simply nodded her head. "Yes…yes…you…you're caressing my breasts…" her right hand moved up then to cup and caress her right breast, just as her left was already doing.

"How does it feel?" he growled.

"Amazing," she gasped, smiling at her words, recalling how he had told her earlier he could make her feel amazing. Oh they were just getting started…

"Pinch your nipples," he growled, swallowing the desire in his throat, his own fingers busily undoing the loops of his belt.

Sybil did more than pinch her nipples. Tom watched as her right hand moved up to her mouth and she licked her fingers…before moving them down to her breast and running the moist pads across the turgid tip.

"God, Sybil…" he groaned at the sight. "What…what are you doing?"

"You're licking me," she whimpered, fingers playing and pinching with the nipple while she licked her left fingers, and then ran them across her other nipple. "Ooohh your tongue feels so good…"

God, he was ready to spend right then and there!

His belt fell to the ground and he was wasting no time in undoing the buttons at his trousers. "Spread your legs, love…" he commanded, his voice rising with heated pants. "Spread them wide and lift your skirt…"

She blushed but nodded her head, doing as he commanded…and Tom let out a long groan as he realized that she wasn't wearing anything beneath her skirts, either. "Sybil…" he growled, not daring to touch himself for he knew if he did, he would cum at any second.

However, the next words she murmured nearly caused him to do just that. "Shall I touch myself here?" she innocently asked, her fingers running along the flesh of her inner thigh.

"Yes…God, yes, please…"

She grinned and nodded her head, closing her eyes once again…as he watched her beautiful fingers run across the wet lips of her sex…running up and down them…moaning as the wetness coated her fingertips…before finally letting the tip of her middle finger sink inside her body.

"OOoooohhh Branson!" she gasped.

God, he wasn't going to last much longer…

"That's it…" he groaned, trying to desperately regain some self-control. "That's it love…pretend they're my fingers…my fingers are touching you…"

"Yesssssssssss…" she moaned. "I am…I am…" she added another finger.

"Good…" returned to unbutton his trousers, trying to be careful not to touch or brush his erection too much. "I can hear how slick you are," he gasped. "How wet you are…"

"Yes…I…I always am when I think about you…"

Oh God, what was she saying? Was she revealing something to him just now? Tom always wondered, even after they had confessed and made their feelings known to each other, he had always wondered if Sybil…touched herself…and thought of him…just as he had done through the years...

"OH TOM!" she gasped, her fingers sliding in and out and up and down her sex, before settling just over her clitoris and rubbing tiny circles around it, causing her hips to buck and lift off the work table. She was on the precipice…and so was he.

"I'm here, love, I'm here!" he growled, moving forward then, and Sybil's eyes flew open and gasped with pleasure as he filled the space between her legs, her hand moving away just in time to let his cock, full, thick, and throbbing, fill her body in one hard, deep thrust.

They both threw back their heads and screamed each other's names as their bodies became one once more. It wasn't going to take them very long to soar over the edge together. Sybil's hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into the flesh, while his own hands gripped her hips, moving down until they cupped the cheeks of her rump, lifting her off the surface of the table and rocking her against his body with every thrust.

"Tom…Tom…I…I'm going to…"

"YES!" he roared, his body pumping his seed into her, as he continued to thrust, feeling her flesh squeeze him as the trembles of her climax began to match his own. Her fingers moved up and scratched the back of his neck, before gripping him and pulling his mouth once more to hers, the scream of her orgasm lost in the intensity of their kiss.

They clung to each other, kissing and holding one another as the waves of pleasure washed over them again. Even after the last of the trembling had ceased, and their pants had resumed to normal breathing, their hold on each other didn't lessen.

"Tom…" Sybil moaned at last, her body relaxing against his. She grinned as she met his eyes and kissed his lips tenderly and sweetly. "I'm glad you didn't hold back."

He groaned, but soon he began to chuckle and return her kisses. "So this was what you had concocted the other night?"

She bit her lip and tried to look innocent. But he tickled her sides which naturally was her undoing. "Yes! Yes!" she giggled. "Yes, I…" she blushed and said in a lowered voice, even though Tom as the only one who would hear her. "I…happened to overhear you talking with Matthew in the billiard room—"

"I wondered as much," he laughed. "My wife, the wicked spy."

"I may be many things, Tom Branson, but a spy is not one of them."

They both laughed then.

"Well, I suppose I can't chastise you for eavesdropping," he grinned. "Especially when it had this sort of result." He looked down at her and found himself frowning slightly as he took in the black stains that now covered her bodice and skirt. "Have I ruined it?" he asked, looking genuinely upset at the thought.

"Oh Tom," she held his face in her hands and gave him a reassuring kiss. "Please don't worry about it; I knew about the motor oil even before I came out here," she confessed, revealing then that Edith had told her about his state. "Besides, this gown is a little old fashioned now…not to mention it doesn't fit like it used to…" she groaned.

"You're beautiful, Sybil Branson," he stated, knowing that she had often struggled with her body image and was sometimes very self-conscious about it. "And you grow more beautiful every day."

She smiled at him and kissed him again; thankful for the strength he always gave her. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't mind about the dress. Even if it's beyond repair, it was worth bringing that fantasy to life," she grinned.

He grinned back and kissed one more time, before helping her down off the work table. "You have no idea how many nights and days I imagined you coming here…and asking me to make love to you, right on that very table," he chuckled, blushing himself at the revelation. "And that night, when you came to me in this dress…" he remembered how she had touched his cheek. He remembered the desire, the passion, the love he had for her ready to burst at any second, and how hard it was…in many ways…to keep himself from losing all self-control. And sometimes, it was still like that; sometimes seeing Sybil in the drawing room, or at dinner, or even down at the hospital, he sometimes felt the urge to grab her in his arms, throw her over his shoulder, and carry her off like some sort of Neanderthal. But at least now, he didn't have to hold himself in check as much as he used to. At least now, his wife was often just as eager…if not more so…than he, to retreat to the privacy of their bedroom.

"And…what about…?"

Sybil's cheeks turned crimson, and looked down like the sweet innocent that she truly was, before lifting her eyes and looking up at him once again through her hooded lashes, a wicked smile spreading across her luscious lips. "I loved it," she confessed.

Tom groaned and took her face in his hands and kissed her again, deeply. "I love you…" he whispered, resting his forehead against hers when the kiss had ended.

Sybil smiled and managed to lift her lips to kiss his chin. "And I love you," she murmured. They held each other in silence for a moment, just enjoying the closeness of their bodies, and of their hearts, to be willing to expose and be so intimate with one another; to trust the other completely.

"I brought you a spare set of clothes," Sybil explained after a moment. "Mary said you are not allowed to enter the house in that state."

Tom groaned and rolled his eyes, the very thing she had been tempted to do earlier, which of course caused her to giggle.

"She also advised that you wash up and use the water in the chauffeur's cottage."

Tom lifted a brow at this. The cottage had a bathtub, but he wasn't sure if it had a supply of hot water, simply because Pratt lived down in the village and no one really used the cottage anymore. He voiced his concerns about the lack of hot water, not enjoying the thought of taking a cold bath very much, but Sybil only grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning up on her tip toes to kiss him again.

"Oh my love, don't worry about that; I'll be sure to keep you warm."


	4. Her Body is a Temple

_HEY LOOK! I updated! :oP First off, I want to thank **Piperholmes** for the inspiration behind this chapter ;o) I can't remember when exactly, but not too long ago, she posted a very...well, shall we say somewhat "risqué" picture on Tumblr about how "no man is allowed to enter the temple of Sybil..." and well, that gave birth to this idea._

_This role play is a little different from the previous ones; it's certainly a little fluffier than the others, but nothing wrong with that! Lots of "husband pampering wife" going on in this chapter (if Tom Branson hasn't ruined other men for you, this might be the chapter that does it). Also, even though this story was mainly written to a bit of an anthology for Sybil/Tom sexytimes, a bit of a plot has developed (I know many people who write similar types of fic can understand that!) It's subtle, but it's there, and will be the lasting link in a way to all the chapters._

_Besides the lovely Piperholmes, I'm also dedicating this chapter to **Cassiemortmain** (author of the delightful S/T romance "**Unexpected**"-go read it if you haven't) who kindly reminded me that it has been a while since I had updated this fic ;o) So go read her story as a big THANK YOU for getting me to do it! ENJOY!_

* * *

_Chapter Four _

**Her Body is a Temple**

The idea came to him over a discussion about baby names.

They were in the drawing room, having tea; Mary and Matthew, his mother-in-law, Isobel, and Old Lady Grantham, were sitting around a table, while he was actually sitting on the floor (something that earned him a look of disapproval and displeasure from both the Dowager Countess and Mr. Carson) making funny faces at Saoirse, who a month ago had discovered the joy of crawling, and ever since loved to do nothing more than crawl across the floors of several rooms, including the lush carpets of the drawing room. So that was where Tom was, down on his hands and knees, making Saoirse laugh and giggle while she scooted across the floor, looking like a tortoise but moving like a hare, when he heard the conversation.

"Not every name, Mary, has to be connected to the family," Cora advised. "I mean, Sybil's wasn't."

Tom turned his head towards his mother-in-law, most intrigued by this. He was surprised that this was something about his wife that he didn't know.

"Oh don't start giving her those ideas," Violet groaned, pausing to sip her tea, but not before she got a good eye roll in. "The stories I had to make up in order to explain why my youngest grandchild had the name of a Greek goddess."

Tom's eyebrows lifted again. He also felt the corners of his mouth lift as well. _Named after a goddess…how appropriate._

"Actually, 'Sibyl' was the name of the prophetess that spoke on behalf of the gods, if memory serves," Mary politely corrected, smiling as her own husband turned and looked at her in surprise. "What? Are you surprised that I know a thing or two about Greek mythology? Or have you forgotten our infamous 'Perseus and the sea monster' debate?"

Matthew chuckled, as did the rest of them, although Violet looked quite put out by the entire conversation. "Please do not tell me that will be the name of my great-grandson," she groaned.

Mary and Matthew couldn't help but laugh at Violet's clear distress. "Actually, we both like the name 'George', and were thinking of calling him that, if the baby is a boy," Matthew explained.

Violet's eyes widened a bit, caught somewhere between disapproval that the name resembled no member of the Crawley family in recent memory, but also relief that it wasn't going to be Perseus.

"George is a fine name," Isobel added, smiling at her son and daughter-in-law. "Don't you agree?" she said, turning to Violet and smirking ever so slightly.

"Yes, very fine," Violet murmured, before lifting her tea cup to sip. "Although not as fine as Robert or even Reginald, perhaps," she muttered under her breath.

"But what if the child is a girl?" Cora asked, smiling at the young couple. "Are there any names that stand out to you?"

"Not yet, but we're still thinking," Mary assured. She glanced over at her brother-in-law and niece playing on the floor. "Perhaps I shall follow Tom's example, and give a little girl a nice, solid Irish name?"

Violet's teacup clattered on its saucer.

Despite the older woman's look of horror, everyone, including Tom, laughed. The conversation then changed to other subjects, but Tom found himself thinking about more and more about Sybil's name. His curiosity had been captured at the thought of his darling wife, who he teased had bewitched him upon the day they met when he first drove her, had a name connected to a mythological goddess. Very fitting, he could not deny; he worshipped the ground she walked on.

When everyone was rising to leave the room after tea, Tom approached Cora, hoping to learn a little more about his wife's name and what had inspired her to call her Sybil.

"Sybil's never told me about her name; I confess I always assumed she was named after an aunt or grandparent," he explained, scooping Saoirse up, who was now starting to look sleepy.

Cora smiled and held her hands out for her granddaughter. "Well, Robert and I had made an agreement before she was born," she began to explain, softly rocking the droopy eyed little girl in her arms. "If we had another girl, I could choose her name—a boy would be named 'Robert', as that had always been our plan. But another little girl, this time I could name her."

Tom found this interesting. "You didn't pick 'Mary' or 'Edith'?"

"Oh I did, but they were both named after relatives. 'Mary' was named after Violet's mother and 'Edith after the sister of Robert's father," Cora explained. "They're both lovely names, and I was happy to name them after two women who meant so much to Robert and his mother, but…well, Mary's love for Greek mythology didn't just come out of thin air," she softly laughed.

Tom smiled. "So you really named Sybil after a Greek goddess, like Mary said?"

"Yes, although Mary is right, Sybil, or 'Sibyl'," she pronounced again, "was not specifically a goddess, not entirely. Rather, like Perseus and Hercules; children of both gods and mortals. Sibyls were, as Mary said, prophetesses, who spoke on behalf of the gods, and who communicated on the mortals behalf to the gods. Sibyls were believed to have special powers, like the gods, and were often revered as gods, hence the confusion no doubt," she chuckled. "But what I remember most about the Sibyls was that they were women of great intelligence and learning, as well as wisdom and compassion. And as prophetesses, that meant they were not afraid to speak out and raise their voices."

Tom couldn't help but smile at this. Indeed; the name was very, _very_ fitting for his wife.

"Perhaps it _was_ divine providence that I named her thusly?" Cora laughed, before turning and giving a soft kiss to her granddaughter's brow. "And it is true, what Violet said," Cora sighed, giving a secret eye roll to Tom. "She never told me I couldn't name Sybil 'Sybil', but she did feel she had to go out of her way to explain to anyone we met, even if they didn't ask, why her granddaughter had such a name," she groaned. "Well, she should count her lucky stars that I decided to make her middle name 'Patricia' instead of 'Persephone', which was what I originally wanted. But even I thought that may have been a little too much."

Tom laughed, taking the now sleeping Saoirse from his mother-in-law's arms. But as the day turned into evening, he found himself continuing to contemplate this new-found knowledge about Sybil's name. After he put Saoirse down for her nap and before dinner, he went into the library to look through several books on Greek mythology, and even a few books on Renaissance art, to learn more about the Sibyls, and what they stood for and how they lived. He smiled as he read a little about the special temples that were established for the prophetesses; special houses of worship where "mortals" could go to seek counsel and aid from these "divine" goddess-like women.

And it was while he was there in the library…that an idea began to form.

Sybil had a long shift at the hospital that day. She left shortly after luncheon, and wouldn't be back until after dinner. She had had a similar shift like this a week ago, and Tom remembered how exhausted she was upon returning. Since the War had ended, the "surplus" of nurses that the hospital saw during Sybil's years as an auxiliary nurse had dwindled. It was rare that they would ever overflow with patients like that had during the War, but that didn't mean things couldn't get hectic, and especially with a smaller staff.

Yes, he recalled how tired she had looked, and how she groaned about her feet and back aching. He sat on the edge of the bed that night, holding her feet in his lap, gently massaging them for her, insisting she lie back and relax, to which she did, a soft giggle escaping her lips every so often (she could be quite ticklish at times). She actually fell asleep while he was rubbing her feet, and he didn't have the heart to wake her, even to get out of her uniform. He realized as he closed the book he was reading, that she would be returning feeling similarly. And while he was happy to have rubbed her feet that night to help her feel better…he couldn't help but think of other ways to pamper her.

…And these tales about mortal men worshipping these goddess-like women were certainly inspiring his imagination.

With the little time he had to spare before dinner, he went downstairs and spoke to Mrs. Patmore and to Anna about making a few arrangements for when Sybil returned. He didn't go into full details of what he had planned, but both women heard him out and nodded their heads that they would do what they could as he requested. Tom gathered a few things from the kitchen, and hurried back upstairs to his and Sybil's room, trying his best to arrange a few things just so (he knew Anna would take care of the rest), before hurrying back downstairs for dinner, before his father-in-law gave him the evil eye for keeping the rest of them waiting.

Dinner seemed even longer and more excruciating than usual, partially because Sybil wasn't there to steer the conversation away from any topic that could cause him to groan at his father-in-law (and vice-versa) and partially because he couldn't wait until she returned…and revealed to her his surprise.

When dinner had ended, he excused himself, returning back upstairs to check on things and make any final preparations. He entered the room and smiled, seeing what Anna had done. He knew he could count on her; she was a romantic as well. He quickly began to remove his tux, as well as gather a few more items from the adjoining bathroom. He had just emerged from it when he heard Mr. Carson's voice down below, "Welcome back, Lady Sybil…I pray you had a good day at the hospital?"

_She's back…_

He scanned the room one last time. He hoped she would like it. He hoped she wasn't too tired, or that her day hadn't been horrible. Even though he told her every day, he wanted to show her how much she meant to him, and how much he loved her, and how he truly thanked the good Lord every day, for letting him breathe the same air as she.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then turned off the lamp.

His goddess had returned…

* * *

It had been a long day, just like the one she had worked the week prior. She was tired, her feet were sore, and all she wanted was to see her husband and daughter before settling in for what she hoped was a relaxing and restful evening. And perhaps a bath? Yes, a bath sounded very appealing.

She gave Carson a smile, thanked him for his kind words, and then climbed the stairs, trying not to groan too loudly as she ascended them. The first place she wanted to visit was the Downton nursery. She knew Saoirse would be asleep, and she had no intention of waking the little girl, but she wanted to see her and drop a gentle kiss on her sleeping brow nonetheless.

Sybil was grateful to be working again; she missed nursing, and it had taken Dr. Clarkson a great deal of convincing (not to mention her parents) to bring her back on staff at the village hospital, but now that she was there, Dr. Clarkson was most grateful as she quickly proved to be one of the most knowledgeable nurses the hospital had seen in recent history, and part of that was in thanks to the experience she had gained for working in a large, urban hospital back in Dublin. There was even talk that perhaps the hospital board would elect Sybil to become head nurse (something she knew would cause her grandmother to choke at the idea). And as much of an honor as that would be, Sybil wasn't sure if she would accept the offer (if it were made). After all, she still had high hopes, along with Tom, that they would be able to return to their beloved Dublin soon. They followed the news very closely; Ireland's independence was within sight, surely it wouldn't be very long now?

The nursery was dark, and Sybil smiled as she heard the soft, even sounds of her daughter's sleepy breathing. She tiptoed into the room, gazed lovingly down at her child, and as quietly as possible, and bent her head to leave a gentle kiss on the girl's temple. This was perhaps the greatest downside to working later shifts at the hospital; it meant missing moments like putting her daughter to bed.

She softly ran her fingers along the child's cheek, her fingers touching the soft brown wisps of hair, before touching a soft earlobe and giving it the faintest of tickles, smiling as she watched a little smile form on her daughter's sleeping face. Oh it was tempting to wake the girl so she could hold her and kiss her, but she resisted the urge; after all, Saoirse was finally starting to learn how to "sleep through the entire night" and this was something that neither Branson parent wanted to interrupt.

With a sigh, Sybil turned and forced herself out of the nursery, dragging her sore feet to her old room, the little sanctuary she and Tom had created for themselves while living here. It wasn't late enough for him to be asleep, and he always tried to stay up until she returned. Perhaps she could convince him to massage her feet again like he had done last week? The very thought brought a pleasured sigh to her lips. Her husband's fingers were indeed quite magical…in many, many ways. She bit her lip to keep the wicked giggle at bay, and opened the door to enter their room.

"Oh!" Sybil was surprised to see that the room was…dim? It wasn't completely dark, but all the lamps were off. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting, and she realized that there were a few candles lit, flicking and illuminating the mantle of the fireplace in her room. There was also a fire crackling in the fireplace, helping provide light for the room, but still…why were the lamps off? "Tom?" she called out, her hand instantly reaching for the closest lamp.

"Leave it off, love…"

Sybil stopped and turned her head towards the door that linked the bedroom to the private bathroom, realizing her husband's voice was coming from behind the door, which was open a crack. "Tom?" she called again. "Are you in there? Why can't I turn the lamp on—OH!"

Her cheeks suddenly began to flood with color and she could heat rise to the surface of her skin, as her handsome husband emerged from behind the door…

…Adorned in nothing but a towel.

"Welcome back," he said with a smile.

They had been married for nearly two years, and heavens knew she had seen her husband in much, much less many times (almost every night!) and yet seeing him like this, his chest bare, the cloth of the towel snuggly clinging to his hips…he still managed to cause her to blush and squirm in anticipation at the sight of him.

"I…" she realized then that she had been staring, and quickly shook her head, forcing her eyes up from his waist (and what she knew lay beneath the towel) to her husband's smiling face. "I um…were you in the bath? I didn't mean to disturb—"

"No, no, you did no such thing," he said with a smile, quietly crossing the room to where she stood. He stopped just before reaching her, and to Sybil's surprise, gave a little bow. She smiled at the gesture, and opened her mouth to say something, but was stopped short by her husband's question. "May I kiss you?"

Sybil felt her cheeks flush at the simple question. "Of course," she said with a smile. "You never have to ask."

Tom smiled, and leaned close. Sybil closed her eyes and lifted her lips, anticipating the feel of his, but instead, she felt them not against her own, but on her cheek! Her eyes opened, and she looked at him questioningly, but noticed how instead of looking back at her, his eyes were somewhat downcast. Was something wrong? She opened her mouth to ask, but once again, Tom stopped her short. "Here," he murmured, moving around to her back. "Allow me…"

Sybil didn't say anything, simply stood there as she realized Tom had moved behind her to untie the apron that covered her uniform. "Thank you…" she whispered as he undid the apron, and she held her breath…as his long, tapered fingers soon moved to the buttons at the back of her dress.

"May I?" he asked, his breath warm against her ear as he murmured his question.

Sybil bit her lip and simply nodded her head. In just a matter of a few minutes of entering their room, she found herself weak-kneed and eager to be in a similar state as her husband. When she was walking up the stairs, making love was the last thing on her mind; she just didn't think she had the energy. But the way his fingers slowly and gently undid all the buttons at the back of her dress…and was painstakingly peeling it off her body, was quickly causing her to pause and rethink that decision. Tom had a way of helping her find that energy…

"Careful," he murmured, as he took her hand and helped her step out of her dress.

Sybil couldn't help but giggle slightly. "Are you playing 'Lady's Maid' again?" she teased, looking over her shoulder at him.

She was delighted to see him blush as he recalled that particular night. "I was a 'Valet', thank you very much," he couldn't resist in giving her rump a little pinch, causing Sybil to gasp but giggle. "And no…this is a different game," he answered, dropping his head to let his lips taste the skin of her shoulder.

A shiver ran down Sybil's spine at this revelation. That energy she didn't think she had suddenly doubled, and she was starting to shiver in anticipation for whatever it was that he had in mind.

"Now…" he practically purred against her skin. "May I have your permission to undress you…_completely?"_

Sybil bit her lip to suppress the whimper. "Do you really need to ask?"

She felt his smile against her shoulder, before giving it another kiss. "Aye, I do," he murmured. "It would be very rude of me, a mere mortal, to presume such things without my goddess' permission."

Goddess? Mere mortal?

"Tom?" she turned to face him, and noticed that again, his eyes were downcast. She reached forward and cupped his face with both hands, tenderly encouraging him to lift his eyes until they met hers. "Is…is that what this is about?"

She held her breath as he turned his head into one of her hands and gently kissed the palm of her right hand. "I am here to serve you…and worship you…" he answered, his voice low and deep, his eyes holding hers for a long moment as the words lingered overhead, before lowering them again. "Now…may I have your permission to finish undressing you?"

Oh God. Sybil swallowed and mutely nodded her head, biting her lip as she turned her back to him once again, and felt his fingers running up and down her spine, while he lifted her slip up over her head…and then began to undo the clasps of her brassiere.

He had said he was going to "worship her". What did that mean exactly? A million thoughts flooded her head at the meaning of his words, and each thought caused the heat to rise in her face…as well as caused an ache to grow and spread from the core of her body throughout the rest of her.

A gasp escaped her lips, as she felt Tom's lips against her back, between her shoulder blades, and he kissed the skin below that, where the clasps of her brassiere had been fastened. She held her breath as she felt him peel the straps of the brassiere down her arms…thus freeing her breasts, which were rising and falling in eager anticipation. She stood with her back to him now, in nothing but her knickers, and even though she knew he had seen her in far less for as many times as she had seen him in far less than that towel, she still blushed every time she stood before him naked (or nearly naked).

Sybil gasped as she felt her husband's hot breath on her skin as he continued to kiss down her spine, his hands on her waist, sliding down until they reached her hips, and he was on his knees behind her. "May I?" he asked huskily, and even though she couldn't see his face, Sybil nodded her head in permission, her eyes closed and her breathing coming in even shorter gasps as she felt him grip the edges of her knickers…and began to peel them down her body.

"Oooohhh…" Sybil gasped, shivering and moaning as Tom's lips kissed small of her back…and then moved across her now exposed bum, his nose tracing small circles against the smooth skin of her rump, before his lips left a kiss on the dimples of her bum. First one cheek…and then the other.

He gently pulled the knickers down her legs, his lips still leaving kisses on every inch of skin exposed. "Tom…" she moaned, the moisture between her thighs growing hotter and wetter in anticipation. Oh Lord, could he smell her desire?

"Mmmmm…" he moaned, and Sybil gasped, as she felt his tongue flick out between her cheeks, stroking downwards to catch a bit of that moisture. "Delicious…" he groaned.

If he asked if he could have his way with her body, she wouldn't even answer him, she would just crumple to the floor and spread herself open, offering herself completely. She may be playing the part of "goddess" in this game, but truly, he was the one who had all the power.

"Lift your feet," he whispered, to which Sybil obeyed, thus finally freeing her from every piece of clothing, as he took her knickers and placed them beside her brassiere, slip, dress, and apron. "Turn around," he murmured, and Sybil held her breath as she did just that, turning slowly…until she was standing and facing him, completely naked, an orange glow covering her skin from the fire and candles that illuminated the room.

Tom remained crouched on the floor, his eyes caressing her body as they moved from her feet…to her legs…to her thighs…and higher and higher, pausing to gaze at nest of curls between them, a look that caused her to squirm. His eyes continued to lift, marveling at the flesh of hips, her waist, her stomach and abdomen. The scar from her caesarian had faded for the most part, but was still the slightest trace of a now pink line that covered her middle. She always felt a little self-conscious of the scar, and even now, moved her hand to cover it. But Tom's own hand, strong and gentle, reached forward and took her hand in his, kissing the fingers, before leaning close and without a word, letting his lips kiss her scar. "Beautiful," he whispered, and Sybil thought surely she would cry at the way he always managed to do that; make her feel so lovely, even her greatest moments of doubt.

His eyes continued then to move up her body, and she wondered as she felt them caress her, especially when they reached her breasts, if he could see how pink she was becoming, despite the dim light? He hadn't even touched her breasts, but her nipples were hardening under the intense gaze of his eyes. Eventually his eyes lifted again, to her collarbone, her shoulders, her neck…and finally to her face. When she had entered the house, she had removed her headscarf. Because of the short hair style that she continued to wear (she rather liked having shorter hair) there had been no pins to remove…so her hair hung delicately around her face, stopping just below her chin. Tom's eyes held hers, and she was grateful his hands had lifted to touch her hips and hold her steady, because she swore her knees would have buckled by the intensity of his gaze.

"You are the essence of Venus," he groaned in wonder. "The Goddess of Love and Beauty would lose many faithful followers to you."

Sybil blushed and bit her lip, before shaking her head. "You're biased," she bashfully giggled.

He smiled and kissed her other palm, which was running across his cheek in loving tenderness. "That may be, but I'm also right," he grinned. "Like Psyche, you would be in danger of Aphrodite's jealousy."

Sybil lifted a brow at his words. "So you're familiar with Greek mythology?"

Tom grinned. "I read Homer's works from your father's library when I was still a chauffeur," he chuckled. "And I brushed up on a great deal earlier today in anticipation of your return."

Now Sybil's curiosity had risen considerably. "Why? What do you mean?"

He chuckled and then bent his head, his hands falling to the ground until he was down on all fours, and Sybil held her breath as she watched her husband, who was not the sort of man to bend lightly to anyone…bow down until his head was at her feet…and dropped two gentle and reverent kisses on each.

"Let's just say…" he murmured against her skin. "I learned a great deal about the meaning behind your name."

"My…my name?" she whispered, her breathing quickening as Tom continued to drop soft, sweet, submissive kisses to her feet.

"Aye," he all but purred, before lifting his head and meeting her eyes once again, while still kneeling at her feet. "I learned that your name fits you in every way possible; you are a goddess and I am a lowly mortal who is blessed to be in your presence, and who worships the ground your feet tread—"

"Oh Tom, don't…" she softly protested. Her face was on fire, both from the words he used and the way in which he looked at her.

He, however, smiled and reached for her hands, bringing them both in front of him and kissing the knuckles. "It's true," he insisted. "You are my goddess and I am your servant; my duty is to see to your every need and care and comfort…to worship you as I promised…and that is exactly what I am going to do," he vowed, before finally rising to his full height once again.

And without warning, he scooped her up into his arms.

"OH!" she gasped, blushing and giggling as Tom carried her not to the bed, but instead to a chair near the fireplace. Sybil looked at him with curious eyes as he gently lowered her down onto the chair, before kissing her cheek and moving around to her front, once again kneeling before her, as if she were a queen on a throne.

"May I, my goddess?" he murmured, his hands hovering near her feet once more.

Sybil blushed again at his words, but answered by extending her foot to him, sighing as he took it, before moaning as his talented fingers slid up and down her leg from her knee to her ankle, rubbing soothing circles along the skin. "Feel good?" he whispered. Oh he knew the answer, she was sure of it, but she smiled and nodded her head, as she felt him begin to massage the balls of her feet. Oh yes, her husband was very, very talented with his fingers.

"Relax; lean back and just let me tend to you…" he whispered, his voice continuing to send delicious shivers up and down her spine. There were many pleasured promises in his words as well, and it was difficult to relax when her mind was leaping to all the possibilities. But she did what she could, leaning back in the chair, trying to ignore the fact that she was naked in front of him, and closed her eyes while he continued to rub her feet.

He hummed a tune that Sybil had heard him softly sing to their daughter when she was sleepy. It was a song she had heard him sing every so often, and her husband certainly had a talent for singing, although for some reason he seemed a little bashful about it.

"Sing it to me?" she murmured, opening her eyes slightly to catch his gaze. She couldn't help but giggle as she saw his own blush rise to his cheeks. "Please Tom?" she purred, a playful grin spreading across her lips. "Your goddess commands that she be serenaded."

He sighed, and she giggled some more, seeing a twinkle in his eye that seemed to say "don't let this go to your head", but he smiled and nodded. "As you wish," he murmured.

Sybil smiled and leaned her head back again, closing her eyes and sighing happily as the soft cords of her husband's voice began to fill the air around her.

_Where Lagan stream sings lullaby__  
__There blows a lily fair__  
__The twilight gleam is in her eye__  
__The night is on her hair_

Sybil practically purred as she listened to his voice; it was so beautiful. She even felt tears brim beneath her lashes, because he had told her once before, that the old Irish ballad had never held any meaning for him until he had met her. Now whenever he heard its lyrics, or hummed its tune, all he could think about was his "English rose", as he called her.

_And like a love-sick lennan-shee__  
__She has my heart in thrall__  
__Nor life I owe nor liberty__  
__With love is lord of all._

She gasped as she felt his lips brush her knee. She bit her lip and parted her legs slightly, wondering if perhaps he would kiss further up her thigh. Instead, however, she heard the sound of something be dragged to across the floor, and her eyes opened to see what looked like a large wooden bowl, filled with steaming water and floating atop its surface, various flower petals.

Wordlessly, Tom took her right foot, and placed it in the bowl. He then picked up a small jug of water (scented with perfume from what she could tell), and poured a little of it over her foot.

It was such a strange, intimate act. She watched in fascination as he picked up a cloth, and slowly began to rub and wash her foot. He looked up at her then, caught her eyes and smiled, and continued his task of washing her foot while his song once again resumed.

_And sometimes when the beetle's horn_  
_Hath lulled the eve to sleep_  
_I steal unto her shieling lorn_  
_And thru the dooring peep._

Without pausing or missing a word, he took her left foot, and proceeded to do the same thing he had done with the other, pouring the scented water over it, before tenderly and reverently washing it with the cloth.

_There on the cricket's singing stone,_  
_She spares the bogwood fire,_  
_And hums in sad sweet undertones_  
_The song of heart's desire…_

She thought she would weep at the loving way he…well, there really was no other word she could think of. The loving way he worshipped her.

With both feet in the bowl, he reached down and took the edge of the towel that was tied around his waist, and used it to delicately dry her feet. Sybil was reminded of the famous passage from the Gospel of John, where Jesus knelt and washed the disciples' feet, before drying them with a towel around his waist.

It was done as an act of love, and truly, she had never felt so loved as she did now, with her husband—a man who could be so proud and every bit as haughty as her grandmother if he tried—submit and humble himself like this to her, and all by his own choice as a way to show her how much he cared.

"Are you crying, love?"

She sniffled and looked into his eyes then; he was gazing back at her with sweet concern, as if he was worried he had somehow hurt her feet. "No, no," she quickly reassured, wiping her eyes and cheeks and cleaning away any residue her tears may have left behind. "I'm just…I'm so happy," she whispered, reaching out for him again, needing to touch him, needing to show him how much he meant to her, too. "You call me a goddess, but truly, I am the one who is blessed."

He smiled and kissed her hand, before once again rising to his feet. In anticipation, Sybil lifted her arms to him, and sighed happily as once again, he lifted her into his arms to carry her to her next destination.

"Am I allowed to walk at all?" she softly teased, her heartbeat growing faster as she realized he was finally taking her to their bed.

Tom couldn't help but chuckle. "Not tonight; I insist you let me carry you anywhere, even if it's to take you to the loo."

"Tom!" she gasped, before bursting into giggles. "I think _that_ is a little excessive."

He grinned. "Perhaps, but I can't help it. I love the feel of you in my arms; I can't get enough of it."

Lord, he knew the right words to say, didn't he? Before he had the chance to lift himself away after laying her on the bed, her hands wove around the back of his head and she pulled his head down to hers, moaning as finally their lips came together, and her mouth rather insistent in deepening the kiss and drawing his tongue to greet hers.

Tom didn't fight it; what man in his right mind would? He obeyed the insistence of her lips, deepening the kiss as she willed it, tasting the richness and warmth of her mouth, and returning the moan she offered. She was pulling him down to her body, eager for this to continue and for their passions to take complete control. And all in good time, he thought to himself, as with all the willpower he could muster, he placed his palms on the mattress and pushed himself away from her enticing, beautiful swollen lips.

"Roll over onto your stomach, love," he panted, trying to get control of his breath, as well as control of his body. His cock was throbbing and aching to once again be nestled in her warmth.

Sybil stared up at him, her pupils dilated slightly, her heart pounding, and her body tingling with desire. She wanted him; God how she wanted him, she ached for him! Ever since she had entered the room and encountered him in just that simple towel, she had been on fire for him. "I thought I was your goddess?" she all but whimpered, her hands trying to pull his head down to hers again. "I command you to make love to me!"

Tom groaned, but shook his head. He knew that he would never live this down later, but that was alright; she deserved a night of pampering, which was why he wasn't giving in to her "demands". He wasn't finished pampering her.

"In good time, my goddess," he vowed, removing one of her hands from behind his neck and giving it a kiss. "_If_ that is what you want later," he couldn't help but chuckle.

Sybil put on a pout, one that was so tempting to kiss (which no doubt was part of her plan). But he managed to resist it, and instead kissed her other hand, before once again encouraging her to roll around, onto her stomach. "Please, love?" he smiled at her wickedly. "I need to finish preparing her from the special 'temple ceremony'."

Sybil's eyebrows lifted at this. "Temple ceremony?" she repeated.

Tom nodded…and then as an incentive, let his hand run down the length of her body, stopping between her thighs, and she gasped as she felt one of his fingers slide across the wet folds of her sex, before nudging the tip of his finger inside, teasing her and causing her body to tremble.

He lifted his hand away then, and Sybil stared at him, looking both disappointed as well as perhaps a little angry that he had teased her. But if she was going to protest, the words died in her throat as she watched him lift the finger to his lips, and lick it clean.

"Now will you please roll over onto your stomach, love?"

Sybil groaned but nodded her head and did as he asked. It was then that she finally realized that the bed was covered with several towels. She looked at Tom in question, but he had already risen from the bed and was moving towards a nearby table, where several bottles lay, as well as another bowl filled with scented, steaming water.

"How is your back feeling?" he asked, returning to the bed with a few of the bottles.

Sybil watched him, her chin resting atop her hands. "It's a little sore," she admitted. Tom opened one of the bottles, and the smell of lavender immediately filled the space around them. "What is that?" she asked, as he poured some of the bottle's contents into his hands.

He smiled dropped a kiss to her back, before moving to stand and lean over her, his lavender-scented hands beginning to run across her skin.

"OH!" Sybil yelped at the cool touch of his fingers.

"Sorry," Tom apologized, trying to suppress his chuckle. "It will begin to warm up soon."

And he was right. She wasn't sure if it was the oil itself or the way his fingers ran across her skin, but whatever it was, it felt heavenly!

"It's my own concoction," he explained, chuckling softly as his hands massaged the flesh between her shoulders. "I took a little bit of your lavender soap…combined it with warm water…and then just a few drops of olive oil from the kitchen."

If he weren't working some sort of intoxicating magic on her muscles, she would have turned over and stared at him in surprise. Instead, she felt her body melt against the towels as Tom continued to rub soothing circles across her back, loosening any knots she felt from a long, tiring shift on her feet. "Oh Tom…" she moaned, as his hands began to move up and down across her back, sliding as far elbows, and all the way down to her thighs.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, leaning over her and whispering in her ear. She shivered again, but not from the oil.

"Yes…" she moaned in reply. "Oh yes…"

He smiled and kissed the back of her head, before continuing to massage her back. When he was finished the homemade oil, he took the bowl from the table, as well as a cloth, and began to gently wash away any excess oil from her back, always being tender, always taking care.

Satisfied that her skin was clean, he removed the towel that was around his waist completely (smiling to himself because she didn't know he had done that) and began to dry her back, once again running soothing circles as he went.

"Don't fall asleep on me, my darlin'," he purred into her ear, grinning as he saw her shiver again. She often told him that she found his voice very seductive, especially when his accent got thicker. This always happened when his passion was aroused, and Sybil had a way of keeping him in a near constant state of arousal.

He then took a second bottle, this one being some lotion that always saw her put on her hands and arms at night, that had the soft scent of lilacs, and he began to run that across her skin, murmuring something to her in Gaelic as she gasped at the cold touch of the cream, before purring once again as he rubbed the lotion into her skin, all across her back, down the length of her legs, before leaning up to get the length of her arms.

"OH!" Sybil gasped again, because he knew for certain that she had felt _him_ against skin of her thigh as he leaned over her. "Tom…?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is…what happened to your towel?"

He chuckled, deep and low. "I used it to pamper my goddess," he confessed as he wiped his hands clean with the washcloth. "I'm completely devoted to her, you see."

Feeling him lean away from her, Sybil felt it was safe to roll over onto her back. "Oh?" she asked, looking up at him with curious, yet eager eyes. _Very_ eager.

He nodded, taking the bottles, bowl, washcloth, and now the towel that he had been wearing, back to the table where he had gathered them. He could feel his wife's eyes on his naked back…and arse, he couldn't help it that he "dropped" the towel on the ground, sighing a little too dramatically, as he bent down to pick it up.

When he turned back to face her, he saw the passion in her eyes and the way her lips had parted in a perfect O, and the way her breasts were rising and falling in heated anticipation.

"You see…" he began, slowly moving back towards the bed. "Like a monk, if you will, I have given up all that I possess to devote my entire life and being, for my goddess." He smiled as drew closer, noticing how her eyes never left his…unless they were to roam down his body. He felt himself grow harder by the second.

"So…that's what became of your towel?" Sybil surmised. "It was…was all you possessed?" she was truly panting, needing him so desperately, needing to feel him all around her, as well as deep, deep inside her.

He smiled and nodded her head. "That's right; I come before my goddess now, like a man created on the first day…to offer to her all that I am…"

He held his arms out, displaying his body entirely for her greedy eyes, and indeed that was exactly what they were; most greedy and most eager. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, hungrily devouring the sight of him, his muscles, his shoulders, his chest, his waist, his hips, his legs…and oh yes, the part of him that looked to be painfully hard and throbbing and eager, just as her body was eager, to come together again.

Her eyes met his, and a wicked smile began to spread across her lips. "But what if she denies you your offer?"

Tom shook his head. "That's why there's a temple ceremony."

"Oh yes?" she remembered him using those words earlier. "And what happens at this 'temple ceremony'?"

"A sacrifice must be made."

"Oh my!" Sybil stared at him, curious to see what he was talking about, scooting back a little on the bed as he began his approach. "And…what sort of sacrifice is that?"

"A man must give himself over completely to his goddess…and be willing to undergo 'a little death'."

Sybil bit her lip, spreading her legs just slightly as Tom reached the bed, and began to lower himself until he was looming over her. "That sounds very…serious," she murmured, opening herself more to receive him.

"It is," he growled. "Only the most devoted servant can undergo this 'torture'…and be revived afterwards."

"And do you think you are strong enough to survive 'the little death'?"

His breath was hot against her skin. "Only one way to find out…" He was about to thrust himself inside her, the tip of his cock was nuzzling the lips of sex, but she stopped just before he could enter, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and pushing him up just slightly so she could see his eyes.

"But I've heard that no man may enter a Sibyl's temple?"

He narrowed his eyes and gave a possessive growl. "I beg to differ." With that, his mouth was over hers, kissing her hard and deep, just as his body thrust hard and deep into hers.

Both of them gasped at the sensation, and Sybil's legs immediately encircled, drawing him closer, capturing him and holding him to her. "More…ooohhh God, mooooooooooooore!" she groaned, her nails digging into his shoulders, clawing down his back until they reached his backside and squeezed, urging him to fill her completely.

He originally had been planning to be soft and tender with her, just as he had earlier when he was rubbing her feet and massaging her back. But he could see that he had pushed his wife's passion to the boiling point, and in truth, his own as well. Well, who was he to argue with his goddess? With a growl, he drove himself in deeper, his thrusts fast and slightly erratic, hard and deep, just as she begged. Yes, yes, just as they both needed.

She moved with him, lifting her hips off the bed to meet every thrust. She kissed him back with the hunger she had been feeling ever since she had returned, sucking his tongue into her mouth, nibbling his lips, whimpering and panting as they continued to make love, groaning in pleasure as it began to mount and rise higher and higher.

With a strength she didn't know she possessed, she managed to roll them over, until Tom was on his back, and he groaned and stared up at her in delight as he watched her rise up, like the goddess that she was, her back beautifully arched, her full, round breasts thrust forward, her palms flat on his chest, as she continued to move and ride his body as if it had been made for such a purpose. In truth, he believed that it was.

"Yes…yes…YES!" she cried, moving faster, riding his flesh, grinding her hips with every bounce and thrust. He reached up and cupped her breasts, taking delight in the pleasured gasps that escaped her lips as his fingers pinched and tweaked her nipples. Now it was his hips that rose and lifted to each and every thrust, meeting her movements, feeling his pleasure grow more and more, knowing that it was only a matter of time before he lost himself completely.

"Oh God, Sybil…" he groaned. "Take me; take your servant! I give myself completely to you, my goddess!"

She gasped, her hands covering his as they squeezed her breasts. "Yes…oh yes…I will take you to heaven and back!"

"YES!" he roared, thrusting harder, coming to the brink of pleasure, knowing that with only a few more motions, he would fall over the edge.

Her hands went up into her hair then, her body, the temple of his dreams and fantasies, completely on display for his eyes to feast upon. He took this blessed moment to move his hands down to the nest of curls between her thighs, and stroke the precious jewel between them. Her eyes went wide, and her head was thrown back as the most beautiful, pleasured scream ripped through the air, and just like that, Tom felt her inner walls squeeze his cock in pleasured bliss, and with one final thrust, he pumped his seed deep inside her, his own head falling back against the mattress, his own cry joining hers as "the little death" claimed him once again.

Sybil gasped and collapsed atop him, her head falling against the bend of his neck, his arms moving around to her back, enfolding her, his hands once again running up and down her spine, murmuring loving words to her in Gaelic as he panted and felt his body come down from the extraordinary pleasure he had just experienced with his beautiful wife.

Every time they made love seemed to be better than the last time. So once again, he found himself smiling and thinking about how this was the best it had been…so far.

"Oh Tom…" she moaned, kissing his neck lazily, before rising to kiss his chin, his jaw, before finally returning to his lips. "Oh Tom…" she moaned again. "That was wonderful…"

He smiled and carefully rolled them over until she was beneath him, and he kissed her some more, long, sweet, lazy kisses, until their heartbeats resumed to something that seemed normal. "I love you…" he murmured against her lips.

She smiled and rubbed her nose against his. "I love you too," she answered. "And you certainly proved your devotion, my handsome servant," she giggled. "Your goddess is very pleased; you shall be her chief priest."

"Her _only_ priest," he growled, causing her to laugh as he attacked the skin of her neck, gently nibbling it.

Sybil purred, and took his face into her hands, lifting it so she could look into his eyes. "Thank you…for all of this," she murmured, running her fingers along his cheeks. "You truly made me feel like a goddess tonight."

He smiled and kissed her once more. "You deserve to feel like one every day; or at the very least, like a princess."

"Not _too_ much like a princess, though," she wagged her finger. "After all, I wanted to get away from this house and this life, remember?"

He smiled tenderly down at her and ran his own fingers across her cheek. He couldn't deny it filled him with both joy and relief to hear her speak so. Ever since they had come back to Downton (and had been told that they couldn't return to Ireland, at least not yet) he had been worried that maybe she would realize all that she had given up in order to be married to him, and yearn to return to that life. But he knew he should never have doubted his darling Sybil; and he would continue to thank God for blessing him with the love and passion of such a wonderful, beautiful, devoted woman.

"You're my princess—well, you and Saoirse," he grinned, kissing her brow. "My two princesses…whom I'm allowed to pamper and spoil as much as I want."

"Careful," Sybil warned. "You don't want to develop bad habits…with _either_ of your princesses," she giggled.

They both laughed and kissed and caressed one another, basking in the beautiful afterglow of their lovemaking. The thing that caused them to finally stir was the rumble of Sybil's stomach. She hadn't eaten since luncheon. But Tom surprised her again, rising from the bed and going into the bathroom, where he emerged with a plate of sandwiches, as well as a bottle of wine. "Tom! You truly are spoiling me!"

He grinned, joining her once again on the bed. "I told you, I'm your most devoted servant; I will do whatever it takes to see to the care of my goddess," he murmured, kissing her shoulder before handing her the plate.

They ate and laughed and drank wine together, snuggled on their bed, naked and glowing in the beauty of the firelight. When Sybil had had her fill, Tom took the plate and her wine glass and put them on the table with the other items. They held each other then, simply resting and enjoying the feel of the other's arms around them.

"You know…" Sybil murmured after a while. "I don't know if I like the idea of being a goddess."

"Oh?" Tom asked, looking down at her.

Sybil nodded her head. "I don't think I can enjoy immortality without my beloved servant," she grinned up at him.

"Ah…not to worry, love," he smiled, giving her a sweet kiss, before surprising her and laying her back down on the bed. "There's a solution to that."

"Oh?" she asked, trying to lean up on her elbows…and she felt her heart beat quicken as she watched her husband slide off the bed, until he was kneeling on the floor…and parting her legs, pulling them until they rested over his shoulders.

"Isn't ambrosia meant to be the food of the gods?" he asked, his breath hot on her thigh. "And if a mortal partakes of their food…doesn't he become immortal as well?"

Sybil was panting with anticipation. "But…but how much ambrosia does it take to make him immortal?"

Tom grinned, before kissing her thigh. "I suppose there's only one way to find out," he growled. "But I'm certainly willing to lick the pot clean."

* * *

_So...whadya think?_

_Two notes! The info I gathered about "the Sibyls" came straight from good ol' Wikipedia. I am by no means an expert in Greek mythology, so I apologize if the info seems a bit off. ALSO the song in which Tom sings to Sybil is one I've used before (it appears in a chapter of Love's Journey and is a beautiful Irish ballad. If you wish to hear it, I recommend looking for the Celtic Woman version on Youtube. _

_Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think!_


	5. Lord Branson

_HERE IT IS! My contribution (or one of them) to S/T Smut Weekend! Which means I should start by dedicating this chapter to the lovely **Piperholmes**, who spearheaded the S/T Smut Weekend idea, and who has been a great cheerleader for our fandom. Also, I did borrow an idea from her for this particular chapter, one which she wrote a while back, so hence another reason as to why she deserves this dedication ;o)_

_Lots of sexytimes happen in here, but also some plot points as to what is going on in the Bransons lives at the moment. Thank you for following and reading, and especially for reviewing! I hope you enjoy and that it's been worth the wait!_

* * *

_Chapter Five_

**Lord Branson**

"Never? Not once?"

"No, never."

Sybil eyed her husband with suspicion, before turning back and smiling as Saoirse crawled in the grass, giggling as Isis walked in little circles around the child, clearly just as amused in the Branson baby as her parents were.

It was a beautiful summer day, far too lovely to be spent indoors. Thankfully it was a day when both of them could get away from their respective jobs, it was Sybil's idea that the three them (well, four counting the dog) would have a picnic on the grounds near the great house.

Saoirse loved it, of course, because she loved crawling. And the cool, lush grass was even better than the drawing room and library carpets inside Downton. The second they had come outside, she began squirming in anticipation, and it was only enhanced when Isis decided to join them. Tom had a bit of a battle, holding the child while Sybil tried to feed her, the baby food ending up more on her chin and dress than in her mouth. "Lord help us when she starts to walk," Tom had groaned, taking his handkerchief and attempting to clean her up.

"She's already standing," Sybil had reminded him, remembering the morning she had gone to the nursery and found Saoirse holding onto the rail of her crib, standing and saying "byl" at the sight of her mother (she couldn't quite grasp the world "mam" or "mum", but after hearing so many people say "Sybil", she used the word "Byl" for her mother). Sybil was so excited at the sight, she ran back and practically pushed her husband out of bed to come and see. "It's only a matter of time…"

Tom looked up at her and narrowed his eyes. "Why do I have the feeling that _you_ were a naughty handful when you were our daughter's age?"

Sybil lifted a brow at his words. "Why Mr. Branson, I can't believe you would insinuate such a thing!" She put on her best "Dowager Countess-pursed lips" expression, causing a laugh from both her husband and daughter. She laughed too, and then lowered her voice, meeting her husband's gaze with a wicked sparkle in her eyes. "And you like how much of a 'handful' I can be…"

He groaned and gave her a look that she loved, a look that told her _"just you wait…"_ and she knew she would hold him to that promise.

Satisfied that Saoirse had eaten enough, the parents let her finally crawl about, Isis ever close by, watching the child in both puppy-like curiosity, and mother-like protectiveness, while Tom and Sybil ate their own meal of cold ham, cheese, and fruit. Eventually, they ended up sitting with Sybil's legs outstretched, her back against the tree trunk they were sitting beneath, and Tom's head nestled comfortably on her lap, grinning up at her and occasionally opening his mouth as a sign that he was ready for a grape. Upon seeing the fruit, Tom chuckled and made a reference to their evening when he had pampered his "goddess", his grin only growing as she blushed at the memory. Since he had been "such a good husband" to her that night, he believed he deserved a treat, like her feeding him grapes as if he were some Roman Emperor.

Sybil rolled her eyes, but couldn't resist how adorable he looked, his head on her lap, his mouth open and waiting for her to plop the little purple globes. "So the Socialist fantasizes about being a Lord or King, is that it?" she had teased.

He made a face at this. "I wouldn't say that…"

"Oh wouldn't you?" she asked, grinning as she fed him another grape. "Here you are, asking me to 'serve' you—I think there's a part of you that likes the idea of 'bossing' someone else around."

"Bossing? No," he shook his head…then looked up at her, trying to look sweet and innocent. "Unless _you're_ the one I get to boss?"

She swatted his chest, which only caused him to laugh. And it was from here that their current conversation began.

His words sparked a curious thought, and she nibbled her bottom lip and looked down at him, blushing and grinning rather wickedly as she ran her fingers through his hair, his eyes closing in appreciation at the feeling.

"Tom…did you ever wonder what it would be like if our roles were reversed?"

His brow furrowed slightly at her words, and he opened his eyes to look up at her in curiosity. "Our roles were reversed?" he repeated.

She nodded. "Yes, like…like you were the 'Lord of the manor' and I was a housemaid, for example."

She watched him closely to see what his reaction would be to her words. She couldn't deny she felt a thrilling surge suddenly leap in her stomach at the thought, and her mind immediately began to drift back to that day when she had come to him in the Downton garage, and he was covered in motor oil, and they had pretended to be their younger selves, dangerously flirting with one another, her playing the coquette while he unleashed any pent-up frustrations he had once felt then, and upon her encouragement, didn't hold himself back from what perhaps he had _really_ been thinking and feeling all those years ago. She loved their little games; she loved how they would go back and forth, one of them having a bulk of the power, while the other was left completely at the other's mercy.

…And if truth be told, the idea of her husband, playing the part of "Lord and Master" (in the bedroom) rather…_excited_ her.

Tom seemed to gulp at the image she had just placed in his head. "Um…" he swallowed and lifted his eyes back to hers. "No…I um…I've never—I mean, I haven't…" he seemed quite flustered by her question, and Sybil tried her best to keep her giggles under control.

"Really?" she asked, trying to sound innocent. "Not even after Granny and Isobel 'forced you' into that morning suit?"

Tom looked up at her, seeing her teasing grin, and reached behind her to give her rump a pinch. "I was too busy trying to keep Matthew calm and mourning the loss of my 'Socialist dignity' to think about other things," he growled, before poking his tongue at her.

Sybil laughed and shook her head. "Oh yes, you're poor 'Socialist dignity'; that explains why you were only too willing to let me remove it for you before the reception was even finished."

Tom grinned at this. "If memory serves, it was _YOU_, dear wife, who was rather eager to get me out of that suit, and not willing to wait until the reception was finished."

If she was supposed to feel shame for her actions, she certainly didn't show it. Rather, she grinned rather proudly and fondly as she recalled the way she grabbed his arm, tugging him out of the receiving line, and pulling him to an abandoned room, before proceeding to run her hands all over his arms, chest, and shoulders, not being able to get enough of how devastatingly handsome he had looked in his morning suit (or how well it fitted his body). Of course, as much as she loved and had admired the way he looked in that suit, it was what the suit held beneath its layers of fabric that had her truly excited.

"You are aware that Matthew knows what happened, aren't you?" he asked, interrupting her memories.

"So does Mary," Sybil added with a shrug of her shoulders.

Tom's eyes widened at this, before pressing his hand over his face and groaning in embarrassment. Sybil couldn't help but laugh, and peeled his hand away, before bending down and giving him a little kiss. "We should feel rather proud; we started a new Crawley family tradition," she told him. "Don't you remember their sudden absence during Edith and Sir Anthony's reception?"

"Not really," he confessed, his eyes meeting hers again and twinkling. "I remember _ours_, however."

They both laughed then, blushing at all the delicious memories of their naughty trysts. Sybil once again began running her fingers through her husband's hair as she gazed down at him lovingly, but still having a hard time believing that not once, ever, did he imagine what it would have been like if their roles were reversed.

And that was when she got the idea…

"Tom…" she began.

He had closed his eyes again, once more enjoying the feel of her fingers running over his scalp, but opened them at the sound of her voice, or rather, the tone in which she used. "Uh oh…" he dramatically sighed. "I know what that means," he said, sitting up.

She tried to look innocent and nibbled her lip. "What?"

"That tone," he told her, shaking his finger at her as if she were a naughty little girl. "You're up to something."

She couldn't help but grin, but tried to regain her composure and look perfectly serious. "Well…I was just thinking…" she ran her fingers along his sleeve, her eyes innocently looking down as she spoke.

"Never a good sign," he teased, laughing as she swatted his arm. "Go on, love, what were you thinking?" It was something naughty, though, that much he could guess.

Sybil glanced over at Saoirse, who was now sitting up in the grass, plucking clover and placing the purplish-white buds on top of Isis' head. "Well," she continued, turning back to her husband. "I was thinking…maybe while the others are away…we could…perhaps have some fun and pretend for a night or two…" she looked up at him through hooded lashes. "That you are…_Lord Branson?"_

Tom's eyes widened in surprise at her seductive suggestion. "Lord Branson?" he repeated, staring back at her.

She nibbled her lip and nodded, her cheeks growing warmer at the thought. "Well…it just seems like such a waste…" she sighed, lowering her eyes again and her fingers once again playing with his sleeve. "Not taking advantage of our current situation…"

Two days ago, the Crawleys had left Downton to travel northward to Scotland to visit Rose and her parents. Edith and Sir Anthony had accompanied them as well, leaving Tom and Sybil behind with a giant house _practically_ to themselves (minus the staff that continued to keep things in order). Cora had not been happy to learn that her youngest daughter would not be accompanying them. She didn't care for the excuses that Sybil gave, about how she couldn't trade any of her shifts with any of the other nurses, and Tom was in the midst of overseeing the construction of several new tenant cottages, that it just seemed impossible to make the journey. When those excuses failed to satisfy her mother, Sybil used the last trick in her arsenal, saying that Saoirse was still too young to handle such a journey. That did the trick, and from then on Cora only pouted. While these excuses were true and legitimate, Sybil couldn't deny that she was yearning for some time when they could be alone. That was something she missed terribly about Dublin; the intimacy of their little flat. Yes, the walls were thinner and they did have some rather nosy neighbors, but it was _their_ home, one they had made together. When they awoke in the morning, they didn't have to worry about the possibility of a housemaid walking in on them if they decided to start the day by making love. Or having midafternoon kisses in the library be interrupted by a wandering footman, or worse…her father. She missed those moments very much, those moments when they could just be Mr. and Mrs. Branson without the Crawley family bearing down on them. And in all honestly, she didn't want Tom to have to be exposed to the scrutiny of Rose's mother, who in Sybil's opinion, was ten times worse than her grandmother.

Her husband had been quiet, and Sybil looked up, taking in how he seemed to be struggling with this suggestion, even to the point of looking uncomfortable! And it then dawned on Sybil as to perhaps why.

"Oh Tom," she reached over and cupped his cheek, urging him to look at her. "I'm not saying that I wish you were a nobleman or anything like that," she shook her head vehemently. "If that was what I wanted, I wouldn't have left this behind to make a new life with you in Ireland!" she smiled as she saw him relax a little and lean into her touch. "I love you, Tom, and I love our life! I meant what I said when I asked you to 'fetch me the matches', and I _still_ mean that. Even after coming back here. Downton was where I grew up, but _you_ are my home; you and Saoirse."

At the sound of her name, their daughter turned and began to crawl back towards them, mumbling "Da!" and "Byl" on the way. They both laughed and Tom scooped the child up, settling her against his chest, before wrapping his free arm around Sybil's shoulders and encouraging her to lie back with him on the picnic blanket, Saoirse tucked between both parents, and looking ready to take a nice long nap.

"I love you," Tom murmured to her, leaning close to brush her lips with his. "And…I can't deny, it relieves me to hear you say that," he confessed. "Sometimes I get so worried that being back here will remind you of all things you had to give up so we could—"

"I would have had to give up so much more if I had stayed," she interrupted him, leaning closer so her forehead could touch his, her hand moving down to brush the soft cheek of their daughter who was already dozing. "So much more," she whispered, still in awe of this little girl that both she and her husband had created with their love.

They both enjoyed the quiet for a moment, listening to the birds sing overhead, the summer breeze softly blowing over them, and their daughter's sleepy breathing.

"So…Lord Branson, hmm?" he asked, breaking the silence and giving her a cheeky smirk.

She couldn't help but giggle. "Well, I just assumed that at some point in our marriage and courtship, you had imagined yourself as the stern and powerful 'master of the house'," she explained, blushing and bashfully looking at him through her lashes. "Who lorded over everything…_especially_ the bedroom."

Tom couldn't help but lift a brow at this, his imagination already running wild with images of just how he could "lord" over the bedroom. "So is _that_ the appeal?" he asked, starting to see and feel and understand her excitement when she had first made the suggestion.

"Well…" she murmured, looking back at him coquettishly. "It is _your_ turn, is it not? And you did mention something about liking the idea of 'bossing me around'?"

He couldn't help but laugh at this, the vibrations of his chest causing Saoirse to squirm against him. He murmured his apologies to his daughter, before looking back at his wife with a wicked gleam lighting his eyes. "Alright…" he conceded. "If you wish for me to play 'Lord and Master', then who am I to deny my lady?"

Sybil beamed at this, her own imagination racing ahead. "And when shall I expect to see Lord Branson?" she asked innocently.

He growled, trying very hard to keep the sound from disturbing their daughter further. "I'd imagine he might make an appearance at dinner," he answered, before lowering his voice. "I'm sure he'll be very hungry."

She shivered at this, her body craving him already (as it always seemed to). "Then I hope he has a large appetite," she whispered back.

"For you? Always," he leaned close, his lips hovering near hers. "I can never get enough."

* * *

Tom couldn't help but make a face as he gazed down at the items his wife had laid out for him. After returning to the house from their picnic, Sybil asked him if he would be so kind as to take Saoirse up to the nursery for her nap, while she went to "take care of something". He could only imagine it had to do with "later", but he smiled, taking the sleeping child from her arms, and then giving his wife's rump a little swat before she sashayed away to do whatever it was she needed to do.

He couldn't deny it rather thrilled him to see her so excited. He remembered one of their earlier fantasies to which they had played out, when he had "captured" her and tied her up as his "prisoner". He remembered how excited she had been when he had asked her to describe it for him, wanting to hear all the delicious details so he could make it perfect for her. His sweet Sybil did seem to like those moments when he let his inner beast out to play.

However, as he looked down upon the bed at what lay there, he honestly wondered how on earth he was going to be able to fulfill his wife's fantasy while looking so…so…

Stupid.

Or at least that was how he was going to feel when he donned such a ridiculous—

_It doesn't matter,_ he reminded himself. _What matters is what she thinks, and she'll only think you're ridiculous if you allow yourself think and feel that way._ He sighed, feeling more resolute about the matter, and finished changing into his dinner jacket for the evening.

Tom had relished these last two nights when it was just Sybil and himself at dinner. Granted, it still seemed rather excessive to have their meals in the giant dining room, even if it were just the two of them, but Sybil had just managed to win the battle of convincing Mr. Carson (thanks in large part to Mrs. Hughes' support) in letting the two of them not be waited upon at dinner, and simply leaving the food on the sideboard in warming pans, much like it was done at breakfast. Tom appreciated her efforts, since he couldn't abide being served and waited upon like that, but he also knew from all his years of serving at Downton, how "passionate" the Downton butler could be for these little traditions, which meant Tom was treading on even thinner ice than before, in Mr. Carson's eyes. So asking if the two of them could have their meal in a smaller, more "reasonable" room was no doubt, "out of the question".

Of course, tonight, it didn't really matter, did it? After all, he was playing a part, and had told her, much to her eagerness, that "Lord Branson" would indeed be making an appearance at dinner. And while it would be "true to character" to have Mr. Carson or Alfred or Jimmy present in the dining room to serve the both of them, an audience beyond that of his own wife was the last thing Tom wanted.

"Right…" he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, deciding to ignore the remaining items on the bed. He would deal with them later. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, his mind immediately going to Sybil, his beautiful, blushing goddess. He felt his smile spreading even before he opened his eyes to look one more time at his reflection. With a nod of his head, he adopted a somewhat haughty gaze, and then proceeded to leave the room to go in search of his wife, who had told him she would be waiting for him in the library.

Which was exactly where he found her, as promised.

He stood in the doorway of the library, watching her admiringly as she sipped some sort of cocktail while leaning over a table and examining a book. He had no idea what the book was, but he loved how easily Sybil could lose herself as soon as she started reading. It had not been unusual to sometimes return to their flat on nights when he had to stay late to meet a deadline, and find her sitting up in bed, reading as she waited for him, but so engrossed in her book that he had to clear his throat to get her to even acknowledge him.

Which was what he did right now.

"Oh!" she lifted her head and turned to see him and Tom's eyes swept across her body, noticing the beautiful, silken green gown that she wore. It was new, one of the few dresses she had bought for herself since their return to England. She had chosen it for the emerald color, telling him that it reminded her of their beloved Ireland, and went on to refer to it as "her Irish dress". She had only worn it once before, and he remembered how breathtaking she had looked that first time he had seen her in it, but seeing her in it again was beyond breathtaking. The gown was a modern cut, ending just at the knee, exposing so much more of her beautiful legs than some of her older dresses. The waist was loose, but the skirt, in his opinion, flattered her lovely, full hips. As for the collar, it was rather daring, creating a delicate V which enhanced the roundness of her breasts and allowed a teasing peek at her cleavage. Last but not least, the gown was sleeveless. Sybil had worn sleeveless dresses before, but the straps on this one were so thin, that at certain angles it looked as if the gown was merely being held up by air. Or to be more precise, that it clung to her breasts in order to stay up, which naturally for himself, made his mouth water.

It wasn't going to take much for her to awaken that beast of his. Correction: the beast was wide awake. He just needed to remind himself that he had a part to play.

"Did I startle you?"

Sybil opened her mouth to answer him, and then stopped herself, her cheeks growing redder and her teeth biting her bottom lip. There was something different about his tone; a certain…_authority_, with which he spoke.

Tom noticed her hesitation, and decided to mix a little of his "Irish charm" with this Lord of the manor persona. "If I did, forgive me, it's just…" his eyes moved over her, appreciating the noticeable shiver that went through her body as he let himself gaze upon her. "It's not every day that I find a beautiful woman in my library."

_His_ library? Sybil bit her lip even harder, an attempt to keep her revealing smile from spreading. She could not, however, prevent him from seeing the obvious shiver of desire that just coursed through her at the authoritative tone he was taking.

"I…I was just looking at one of your books," she explained, lowering her lashes and pointing the open book on the table. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have taken it without permission—"

"That's alright," he assured, slowly approaching her, his eyes never leaving hers. Sybil's insides began to melt at the dark way he was looking at her as he moved, like a predatory cat, looking ready to pounce. "Tell me…" he asked, as he came up to her side, his eyes still holding hers. "What were you reading?"

A soft gasp escaped her throat as she realized that her hand had been lingering atop the book, and his hand covered hers, using it to help him over the book so he could see what she had been reading.

"Paradise Lost?" he asked, his eyes returning to hers, his hand still lingering over her own.

She mutely nodded her head, not moving her hand away. "Milton's a beautiful poet," she whispered.

"Ah, is that what you like about it?" he asked, his thumb running seductive little circles across her knuckles.

"Well…it…it is rather fascinating, the story…" she replied.

"Yes, I suppose so…" he murmured, his voice deepening. "Adam and Eve in the garden…innocent and naked…" his breath was hot against her neck as he leaned closer. "And then being tempted…" he continued, his lips hovering near a pulse point, seeing it throb beneath her skin, seeing her breasts rise and fall rapidly as her breathing quickened. "Partaking of forbidden fruit…"

"Have…have you read it?" she asked, turning and looking up at him innocently, but wantonly as well.

He couldn't help but chuckle at this, adopting that haughty gaze he had sometimes seen Matthew wear when speaking to their father-in-law. "Well, this is my library," he repeated, taking a reluctant step away from her and going about the task of pouring himself a brandy as he had often seen Robert do in this room. Somehow, holding a brandy glass seemed to be the final touch he needed for his "Lord Branson".

Sybil blushed and watched him, sipping her cocktail as he swirled the contents of his brandy. "Yes, but not every…Lord…reads all the books in his library," she ventured, looking up at him through her long lashes.

"True," he chuckled, sipping his brandy, an idea coming to him that he knew Sybil would like (and from the way he was shifting, his own body clearly liked as well). He stepped towards her, taking her cocktail from her hands and placing it down on the desk next to his brandy. He then proceeded to take her hand and guide her towards one of the bookshelves, letting go once they were standing in front of it, her back to him, his hands lightly atop her shoulders, before he leaned close to her ear and asked, "Let's see which one of us has read the most books, shall we?"

He had seen Sybil's shiver earlier; but now…he could feel it. And it coursed through him as well, causing certain portions of his body to throb and ache.

"Well…" she began, trying to focus her gaze on the shelf before her, and not on how close he was standing behind her. "I um…I've read this one," she pointed at the first title.

"Mmm-hmm," he murmured in agreement…his fingers sliding off her shoulders…and down her bare arms.

Sybil swallowed. "And…and I've read that one…"

"Me too," he growled near her ear, leaning closer. His left hand slid down to hers, curling around her fingers, before lifting their adjoined hands towards the shelf, pointing at a specific title. "And this one?"

Sybil could barely concentrate. Her eyes kept fluttering closed as the heat of his breath kept hitting the back of her neck and the space just below her ear. However, when he had taken her hand in his, her back came flush against his chest, and she let out a gasp as her rump came into contact with a very distinct portion of his anatomy. One that he was purposely rubbing against her.

"Well?" he asked, growling against her skin. "I'm waiting…"

"I…I um…" she couldn't even tell what the book was; a haze of desire was clouding her vision.

"It's Dracula, by Bram Stoker," his tongue darted out then to taste the throbbing pulse point he had seen earlier, both hands now moving along the sides of her dress, running over the delicious green silk, loving how soft it felt beneath his fingers, imagining how good it felt against her creamy skin.

"N-n-no," she stammered, gasping as one of his hands slid up towards her breasts, while the other slid down to her thigh and began to lift up her skirt.

"No?" he asked, softly sucking on the flesh at her neck.

"No—Oh God, yes—I mean, I mean no, I…I've never read it," she whimpered, melting even further against his back, her rump now moving against his groin, making his cock harden even more and long for release from his trousers.

"Mmmmm…well then…" he growled against her skin, his teeth now nipping at her pulse point. "Shall I tell you what it's about?" he chuckled against her neck, before giving it a delicious bite. "Better yet…" without warning, he grabbed her about the shoulders and turned her around to face him, bringing her flush against his body, her back now against the bookshelf, trapped between two strong, and very hard objects. "Why don't I _show_ you?"

Sybil gasped, but it was short-lived, as his mouth quickly covered hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth, robbing her of both breath and thought, ravishing her lips with the urgent hunger of his kiss. She mewled in response, and tried to answer that same hunger, her own tongue touching his, swirling and kissing him back. "Mmmmmm!" she moaned against his lips, as she felt her feet being lifted off the ground, her hands gripping at his shoulders, her legs naturally parting, allowing him space between them. "Oh Lord!" she gasped, her lips tearing away from his as his kisses began to grow more and more passionate across her jaw, down her neck, lifting her body higher and higher against the shelf, nipping at her shoulder, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, his tongue dipping into the crevice of her cleavage.

"Lord _Branson_," he growled from the valley between her breasts, before he continued to ravish her, pressing his throbbing erection against body, her dress pushed up to her hips, her legs spread wide. They both gasped as she felt his hardness rub against her most intimate place. Even though he was still covered by his trousers, and she was still wore her knickers, that didn't stop him from thrusting against her, causing them both to gasp and groan in frustrated pleasure.

Her hand reached forward and gripped the back of his head, while his mouth continued to lavish heated kisses and bites to her skin. Her body was deliciously crushed between his and the bookcase, which gave him the freedom to reach out and grip one of the shelves with one hand, while the other gripped one of her own hands, pinning it against the shelf, while his body continued to thrust against hers, not being able to stop and cease his actions, driving them both wild with desire and need, his cock screaming to be released from the cage of his trousers, the dampness of her knickers coating him; good God, she must be soaked through!

And _still_ he continued to thrust, continued grind himself against her, and she was completely helpless, completely at his mercy, loving every second of it, while at the same time moaning in frustration because she just wished he would push her knickers aside, undo his trousers, and shove his huge—

"Mr. Branson? Milady?"

They froze at the sound of Alfred's voice.

Ever since returning to Downton, Tom had long since learned the importance of making sure a door was shut behind you when you entered a room, and even better if you could lock it. While the library door had no lock, the next best thing was to purposefully push the rug in such a way against it, that should someone attempt to open the door, it would catch on the rug, making the task of entering the room, rather difficult.

It wasn't a perfect solution, but it sufficed in giving both he and his wife a chance to right themselves after their very passionate moment against the bookshelf.

"Mr. Branson? I beg your pardon, but there seems to be something wrong with the door?"

Tom ran a hand quickly through his hair, and crossed the room as best he could (which was a bit difficult, considering the somewhat painful erection between his legs), but managed to reach the door and peek through the crack Alfred had been able to make by his pushing. "Yes, what is it?" he all but barked, perhaps a little too harshly. Consider it part of the character, he told himself.

"I'm sorry, I just…" the footman's face began to turn red, and Tom could only imagine that he was catching a glimpse of Sybil, who was also smoothing her hair, as well as any excess wrinkles out of her dress.

"Yes?" Tom all but barked again, straightening himself up and trying his best to shield Sybil from Alfred's rather tall view. His harsh tone did the trick, however, because Alfred quickly lowered his eyes, his face darkening even more.

"I just came to find you and tell you that dinner is set, as you and Lady Sybil requested," he explained, and then turned and walked away before Tom could mutter an apology and a thank you for the announcement. He would need to make sure he sought out the ginger-haired footman later to do that.

"Well…" Sybil murmured behind him, a distinct blushing glow still radiating from her skin.

He couldn't help but grin, loving how she was trying to be the "prim and proper" lady once again. "Shall we then, my dear?" he asked, offering her his arm.

She nibbled her lip and glanced down at him, which naturally made his cock spring to attention. "Are you sure you can manage to walk in there?" she cheekily asked.

He groaned but nodded his head. "Thank God we'll have the room to ourselves." He couldn't imagine facing Mr. Carson in his current state.

Sybil giggled and wrapped her hand around his offered arm. "Yes, well, I must be sure to send my compliments to his Lordship for the fine…tour…of his library."

Tom looked at her, lifting an eyebrow. "Lord Branson is very glad you enjoyed that," he leaned close and growled, "I'll be sure to pass your compliments onto him."

"Oh yes, please," she purred back. "And do tell him, that if he wishes to give me any more tours of the house…I'd be most delighted to accompany him."

He chuckled and nodded his head. "There are several rooms that quickly come to mind…"

* * *

Lord Branson did not make an appearance at dinner, much to Sybil's disappointment, although she did her best to hide it. She understood her husband's reasoning, of course. Even though they would have the dining room to themselves, that didn't mean that Alfred or Jimmy or even Carson himself, couldn't just walk in to make sure they had everything they needed. And as erotic and arousing as the image of Tom, bending her over the dining room table and having his wicked way with her was, she knew that such activities were best reserved for later…in a room where they _could_ lock a door.

However, when dinner had ended, he rose from his chair and walked around the table to where she sat, and Sybil felt that familiar thrill run up her spine as he practically seemed to be stalking towards her, his broad body fitting his dinner jacket ever so wonderfully. She held her breath, practically hoping that he was going to bend down and sweep her up into his arms to carry her off to their bedroom so they could continue what they had started in the library, only this time with fewer clothes.

But it was not to be.

Instead, Tom bowed his head, and leaned forward, taking one of her hands in his, before bringing it up to his lips to leave a kiss on the back of it. "It was a pleasure having dinner with you, Lady Sybil…" he murmured, smiling at her and no doubt enjoying the look of confused arousal on her face, as he gave her hand one last, lingering kiss, before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Where he had gone? She didn't know. She went back to the library, wondering if he had returned there to have another brandy, but saw no trace of him. Had he gone into the drawing room? But it was empty too. She then went to investigate the billiard room, and groaned in frustration at finding no trace of him either. Without any other alternative, she climbed the stairs, hoping he had simply retreated to their bedroom, making himself ready for her return. But even it was empty!

_The nursery._ That was the only other possibility, surely? Her heart softened at the thought; Tom was a wonderful husband, but he was also a wonderful father. He adored Saoirse, spoiled her with cuddles and kisses, showing her a great deal more of public and physical affection than she recalled her own father ever showing them when they were children. However, even upon entering the quiet nursery, Tom was not to be found. She sighed, suppressing her groan as best she could, moving over to the crib where her daughter lay sleeping, tucking the blanket around her and kissing her fingers before gently pressing them against Saoirse' brow, before turning and quietly shutting the nursery door.

Once again, with no other alternative, she returned to their room, wondering if perhaps she would find Tom in there now?

Well, what she did find wasn't her husband…but it was a message left for him.

_The future Lady Branson deserves a room fit for a countess…_

Sybil's eyes widened at his words. Oh gracious…was he…was he saying that she was to go to…?

Her hand flew to her mouth to cover the giggle that suddenly bubbled up in her throat. Oh my, yes, that was what he was saying! And it made perfect sense, of course, if they were to play these roles. She couldn't help but nibble on her bottom lip as she looked around the room, deciding to "dress for bed", and quickly divested herself of her Irish dress, removing a bulk of her undergarments, and slipping her nightgown over her body. Then, feeling positively wicked (but loving it) she poked her head out into the corridor, happy to see it empty, and quickly began her dash along it, pausing at corners to check and make sure no maid was nearby, before continuing on her secret journey, and not stopping until at last, she reached the Earl and Countess of Grantham's bedchamber.

_This is truly, truly wicked!_ And yet she couldn't stop grinning at the idea. With a deep breath, she opened the doors, a huge smile on her face…which quickly fell at finding the room empty.

_But…but surely…?_

His message had told her to go to a room that was "fit for a countess"; what other room could he possibly mean? Perhaps he had something up his sleeve? She blushed, her imagination running wild with ideas. _Best to wait for him in bed_, she thought. She only prayed she wouldn't have to wait for very long.

She crawled beneath the sheets and blankets, her head resting atop the pillow, looking around the room, blushing as she recalled where _exactly_ she was lying. Her hands folded atop her belly and she patted her fingers against her stomach, remembering that she had put in her little cap before coming to the room, but thinking ahead to the future. Did she want to try to have another baby before returning to Ireland? How much longer was it going to take? The news they kept hearing was "soon"; _soon_ they would have a free state, _soon_ a treaty of some sort would be signed, _soon_ leaders between Britain and Ireland would reach some sort of compromise…and _soon_, at last, she and Tom could take Saoirse, and return _home_.

Sybil thought she heard a sound coming from the room next door. She rose up on her elbows and glanced towards the adjoining door that connected the bedroom with her father's dressing room. Her brow furrowed as she heard a strange sound accompanying footsteps. Oh no; what if it wasn't Tom, but one of the staff? Coming up here at this hour for…who knows what, really? But what if—?

The door opened then, and Sybil gaped…as there he stood, tall and proud and looking every bit the stern "master of the house", her very own, Lord Branson.

Earlier, when he had taken Saoirse to the nursery for her afternoon nap, she had slipped into her father's dressing room, trying to see if there was anything she could find to help "inspire" him. What she found made her giggle; a somewhat plush black dressing gown with a silken cord for a sash. She also took a rather snowy cravat that her father kept (why, she wasn't sure, as she had no recollection of him ever wearing such a thing) and laid them atop their bed for him to "observe" while he changed for dinner.

He wore them all; the cravat was tied around his neck, over his dress shirt which he still wore, and the dressing gown thrown on top of it. On any other man, she believed it would absolutely ridiculous! But somehow, on her husband…it looked absolutely mouth-watering.

Tom struck a rather imperious pose, and Sybil bit her lip, not wanting to laugh and make him feel embarrassed. She knew this was a little difficult for him, playing this part, but at the same time she had a feeling that he was enjoying it too. He certainly _felt_ like he was enjoying earlier, in the library.

"Why Lady Sybil…" he observed, sounding haughty and lifting a brow at her. "I believe you have gotten lost."

She looked up at him, her breath quickening as her eyes moved over him. "Forgive me, Lord Branson," she murmured, lowering her eyes demurely, knowing how the look could arouse him. "I was just…overcome with sudden tiredness, that I found myself here…in this large room and on this wonderfully soft bed…" she laid back, spreading herself out, stretching her arms above her head in a languid stretch.

He gazed down at her, loving how she moved, how despite the nightgown she wore, he could see the outline of her luscious curves through the fabric. He also noticed that she still wore her stockings and garters from earlier, and he couldn't help but wonder if that was _all_ she wore beneath her nightgown.

"This is my room," he growled, shutting the dressing room doors behind him. She realized that he was holding a walking stick, something she had not supplied him with earlier, but that he must have found in the dressing room. It certainly added to his "Lord of the Manor" persona. "And you, dear lady, are trespassing."

She began to sit up. "Oh forgive me, Lord Branson," she murmured again. "I do beg your pardon. I shall leave at once—OH!" she gasped as he moved around to her side of the bed, his hands, large and strong, grasping her shoulders and easing her back down upon the bed, his own body looming over hers.

"That won't be necessary." His mouth covered hers suddenly, and Sybil gasped, allowing his tongue to invade and seize her own. Her own hands gripped his biceps, her fingers rubbing and caressing the muscles of his arms through the rich fabric of the dressing gown. Her own nightgown had ridden up to her hips, exposing her stocking-covered legs for his viewing pleasure…as well as revealing that yes, just as he had suspected, her stockings and garters were _all_ she wore beneath her nightgown.

"You've entered my chamber," he growled, his voice deep, his accent thick. She gasped and shivered at his possessive words, loving the thrill they sent through her body. "And that makes you _mine_."

His fingers were running over her skin, touching and caressing the flesh of her neck, moving down to touch her collar, making her gasp and moan and whimper as she felt their tips tantalize her skin, promising to touch her in more intimate places, making her blood burn hotter, making her body ache even more!

His mouth was on her neck, sucking and biting at her pulse point again, causing her to arch her body off the bed towards him, wanting him to ravish her completely. He lifted his eyes to hers then, briefly breaking character to see that she was enjoying this, that she loved and trusted him, and his heart soared at seeing all that in her passion-glazed eyes. His gaze darkened once more, and he gripped the edges of her nightgown at the collar. _I'm going to miss this_, he thought.

"I am Lord of this manor; I am master of this house!" he growled. "And everything that is here belongs to me—_including_ your beautiful body."

And with that, he ripped her nightgown in two.

"OH!" Sybil gasped, staring in shock as her husband quite literally ripped her clothes from her body! His eyes once again flew to hers, but the gaze which she held was one of pure desire and longing, and with another possessive snarl, he attacked her flesh, his hands roughly taking hold of her breasts, squeezing the full globes and pinching the nipples, making them harder, and spreading the ache like wildfire, straight to her womanhood.

His mouth soon followed, and Sybil gasped, her hands and fingers completely helpless, as Lord Branson gripped her wrists, pinning them at her sides, while his tongue lashed and flicked against one of her nipples, before sucking it roughly into his mouth, his teeth biting the bud, causing her to gasp and squirm and moan and arch against him off the bed.

"Are you wet for me?" he growled, pushing her legs apart with his knees, one hand gripping both of her wrists overhead, while the other ran down her body, until it reached the apex of her thighs and wasted no time, cupping her mound and feeling her buck towards his hand. "Mmmm…yes, yes you are…"

"Please…" she whimpered. "Please…I…I'll do anything…"

He lifted a brow at this, smiling down at her. "I like hearing you beg," he growled, one of his fingers running over her wet slit.

"Please, please Lord Branson," she begged, gasping as she felt the tip of his finger slip inside her body. "Please…I…I need you!"

"Need me?" he growled, bending his head to attack her other breast, his teeth raking across the nipple, causing her to gasp while he slipped another finger inside her, and began to thrust them in and out of her hot, dripping body.

"Yessssssssssssss…" she whimpered. "Yes, I need you…I need you inside me!"

"But I am inside you," he growled, thrusting his fingers even faster, his thumb rising up to tease her clit.

"Nooo," she shook her head, which was really thrashing from side to side on the pillow, her pleasure building, but also her frustration, because Tom knew exactly what it was that she needed.

"No?" he teased, his fingers curling up and finding that spot that always drove her wild. "Then you better tell me what it is that you need, my love…"

"You!" she all but screamed. "PLEASE! _ALL_ of you! Take my body! TAKE IT LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD!"

She didn't even have to finish that sentence. He was pulling the dressing gown back, his trousers already undone, his cock thick and hard and aching, and he released her wrists, reached down, and lifting her lower body off the bed, his own sitting up on his hunches, he thrust his cock deep inside, burying himself to the hilt, and gasping as he felt the walls of her sex enclose tightly around him, vibrating with pleasure, nearly sending him over the edge.

"YES!" she screamed, unable to keep her pleasure back. Nor did he want her to. So what if Mr. Carson gave him a nasty look? So what if someone told Robert about the strange sounds coming from his bedroom? They could all feck off, as far as he was concerned. All that mattered was this gorgeous woman, wanton and moaning, her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him to her while he moved at a quick pace, thrusting in and out of her beautiful body, feeling the pleasure rising and mounting for them both.

"Be my countess, Lady Sybil," he managed to growl between thrusts. "I'll take you EVERY NIGHT, just like _this_…but only if you'll be my countess; I want no mistress, you're TOO GOOD to be some man's mistress!"

"YES!" she gasped, thrashing even more on the bed, her body moving with his thrusts, loving everything, loving him, feeling her body ready to come apart any second. She couldn't say anything else, her mind was devoid of all thought, only pleasure. And so she kept screaming the same word over and over. "YES! YES! OH GOD, YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

"SYBIL!" he shouted, as ecstasy once again claimed them, his seed spilling into her, her body clutching him, both inside and out, collapsing down atop of her, her arms enfolding him as the dressing gown pooled around them like a cloud.

"Oh Tom…" she whimpered, her tired voice filled with nothing but love and satisfaction.

His hands touched her cheeks, and he lifted his head, still panting but smiling down at her, his own eyes reflecting the same emotions, and he bent his head to kiss her, soft and sweetly, before carefully pulling out and drawing her body to his side.

"Thank you," she murmured, her face already burrowing against his chest, breathing in his scent and hugging him to her. "Thank you for being my Lord Branson."

He chuckled and kissed her brow. "Thank you for agreeing to be my countess."

She lifted her head and smiled up at him, kissing his chin, before leaning up a little more to kiss his lips. "I'll be your countess, your goddess, your lady, even your prisoner," she giggled.

He chuckled too, but held her close, never letting her go, loving her so much. "Just be my wife, my friend, my partner, and mother of my children—as for the rest, well, you know what I always say."

"That it's all detail?"

He chuckled and kissed her again, hugging her close. "Aye; the rest _is_ detail."

She smiled and nodded her head, loving him with all her heart. "But sometimes those details are fun," she purred.

His body stirred at her words, and even more so at the memories they created and promised for the future. "Indeed," he agreed, before losing himself in her kiss all over again.

* * *

_And do not worry, gentle readers...we have not seen the last of Lord Branson ;o)_


	6. His Lordship's Chamber

_Hello! I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack! And I'll first say that this chapter is my belated birthday present to a wonderful fanfic author and friend, **cassiemortmain**._

_Well this chapter took me by surprise! I had an idea all mentally storyboarded out, and then those darn Bransons, they just *insisted* on getting right to the sexytimes within a few paragraphs! Can you believe the nerve? ;o) Soon my original idea began to change, and so here you have what happened! While not *as much* roleplaying as the previous chapters, this still involves fantasy, and the sharing of a couple's fantasies together (as you will soon see). It's also a nice springboard to the next chapter, as well as a bridge from the last one. In fact this chapter takes place on the early morning after the events of the previous one, so if you're struggling to remember what all happened in that one, I would encourage you to "force yourself" to go back and read the smut of chapter 5, to "reacquaint" yourself with the events that took place ;o) _

_THANK YOU FOR READING! I hope you enjoy and please, please, share with me your thoughts! THANKS!_

* * *

_Chapter Six_

**His Lordship's Chamber**

It was her wriggling form that awoke him.

Tom sleepily lifted his head, looking around the room with some confusion, not recognizing the furniture or the bed on which he lay. Sybil remained asleep, but she burrowed herself even closer to his body, seeking his warmth in the somewhat chilly room.

It was still dark outside, but the birds could be heard, singing their song in preparation for the rising dawn. Usually a fire was lit by this point, but there was none now, which seemed to add to the confusion. He looked down at the bed, frowning at the unfamiliar sheets that were draped across his and his wife's body…and at a rather dark, plush dressing gown that lay in a heap at the foot of the bed.

…And that was when the memories of the previous evening finally returned.

"_Are you wet for me?" he growled, pushing her legs apart with his knees, one hand gripping both of her wrists overhead, while the other ran down her body, until it reached the apex of her thighs and wasted no time, cupping her mound and feeling her buck towards his hand. "Mmmm…yes, yes you are…"_

"_Please…" she whimpered. "Please…I…I'll do anything…"_

_He lifted a brow at this, smiling down at her. "I like hearing you beg," he growled, one of his fingers running over her wet slit._

"_Please, please Lord Branson," she begged, gasping as she felt the tip of his finger slip inside her body. "Please…I…I need you!"_

Tom groaned at the memories, his body stiffening as he remembered every delicious detail of his and Sybil's night in the Earl and Countess of Grantham's bedchamber. His attentions however were brought back to the present as he felt her shiver in her sleep. He turned and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, smiling as he felt her lips sleepily nuzzle the skin of his collarbone. It tickled slightly, and he couldn't help but chuckle, the rumbling sound enough to wake her.

"Mmmmmm…" she sleepily moaned, stretching her body and sighing as she opened her eyes and looked up at him. His smile grew as he saw the sweetest and most satisfied of smiles spread across her beautiful lips. Such smiles were the sort that would inflate any man's ego.

"Good morning, milady…" he murmured, wondering how much she remembered from last night herself.

Sybil yawned, and burrowed closer. "It's cold and you're warm," she mumbled, pressing her body closer.

He chuckled, his arms tightening around her. "I'll do my best, Lady Branson."

She opened an eye and looked at him. "Lady Branson?"

His chuckle only grew. "Aye; don't you remember? You agreed to be my countess last night."

It was as if a light had been switched. Sybil's eyes flew open and she suddenly sat up, clutching the blankets to her naked body and looked around the room, taking in their surroundings for the first time that morning.

"Tom…?" she whispered. "Is this…are we in…?" Realization came upon her and she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she looked back at him. "This is my parent's room!"

"It is," he sighed, nodding his head.

Her face grew pink as she sunk back down beneath the covers. "We're in their bed!"

Again, he nodded. "We are."

She stared back at him, her eyes wide and her face bright. "You…you _ripped_ my nightgown _right off my body!"_

He winced slightly at the memory, and even looked a little guilty as he nodded and replied, "I did."

But a sweet, delicious, and rather wicked giggle bubbled up from Sybil's throat, and she bit her lip and looked most mischievous, before whispering, "We were _very naughty_ last night…"

He couldn't help but grin. "Aye…_we were."_

They both laughed then, pulling the blankets up even higher to muffle the sound, looking like a pair of naughty school children, but also looking rather proud, as well. Tom's grin spread even more, as Sybil snuggled closer, pressing her body against his, her hand moving around his back to run and down his spine, his own doing the same, always loving the touch of her skin and the feel of her against him.

Sybil smiled up at him and tilted her face, her lips seeking his and sighing happily when he kissed her back. It wasn't an urgent kiss, despite the early morning erection that was growing harder with every passing minute by the way she pressed herself to him. It was soft, lingering, and full of so many loving promises. It was also a kiss that showed she had no shame for their actions, which he was glad because he didn't feel any shame, either.

"Well…" Sybil sighed somewhat dramatically when their lips parted. "I suppose I shall _have_ to become your countess now, shan't I, Lord Branson? Otherwise I shall be regarded as a 'fallen woman'."

His hand ran down her back and Sybil gasped and giggled as he playfully swatted her rump. "Mmmmm, we can't have that, can we?" he growled, his lips moving to a pulse point on her neck and tenderly nipping the skin.

She gasped and began to purr as his tongue ran over the spot where he had nipped. "Mmmmm…although…" she whimpered slightly as sucked at her skin. "I…I think you rather like me as your…'fallen woman'…"

"I _love_ you as _my woman_…" he growled, his lips moving back to hers. "The rest is detail."

They kissed then, only this time there was desperation, and he groaned to Sybil's gasp as his cock rubbed against her inner thigh, longing to be made whole with her again. He was already rolling her onto her back, his body hovering and his hand moving down to touch her, feel her wetness, see if she was ready for him.

"How many…_OH!"_ she gasped as one of his fingers slipped inside her. She bit her lip and her body arched as he gently pumped it, giving her a promise of what was to come. "Mmmmm…ooooohhh Tom," she whimpered. "How…how many…_ahhhh!"_ his thumb had found her clit. "You're not making this…this very easy, you know," she accused, giving him a look which only made him grin, especially when he added another finger.

"Concentrate, love," he teased. "How many what? How many…_fingers?"_

She gasped as his fingers sunk to the second knuckle. "Tooooooooooooommmmmmmmm…" she moaned, her hands gripping shoulders as he continued to tease her. "Last…last night," she panted. "How many…how many times…did…did we…?" she couldn't finish her sentence, but she didn't have to. He knew what she was asking.

"Hmmmm, that depends," he growled, his lips attacking her pulse point again. "Are you _only_ counting when we did this?" his probing fingers grasped his cock and he guided it into her, slipping inside and sinking deeply into her hot, wet body, his head falling against her shoulder while her nails dug deeply into his back, both of them groaning as their bodies began to move in perfect rhythm again. "Or…" he gritted his teeth as he began to increase his pace. "Or are you also counting when I went down—"

"Over," she panted.

Tom was confused. "Over?"

She nodded. "Yes…yes…turn me, turn me over…"

Did she mean for him to lie on his back? There wasn't one position he didn't love for their lovemaking, but there was something very sensual about his Sybil, straddling and riding him and setting the pace. However, when he attempted to move to do just that, he quickly realized that wasn't what she had in mind…but something else entirely.

His mouth watered at the sight of her, bent over on her knees, her hands reaching forward and gripping the headboard of the bed, her pert and delectable arse practically wriggling in the air as if beckoning him. Was it possible to get any harder? Apparently so…

"Oooohhh Sybil…" he groaned, his hands moving to reverently cup and run across the ivory flesh of her rump. "Oh love…the things you do to me…" he couldn't help it; while one hand squeezed her left cheek, the other gave the right a light smack.

"Tom!" she blushed, but grinning as a sign that she loved it.

He chuckled and gave the other cheek a light smack. "Mmmmm…sorry milady; Lord Branson couldn't help himself."

Sybil's eyes twinkled; clearly she was storing that information away for another time. "I do love my Lord Branson," she purred, pushing her rump even higher. "But right now, I would very much like my Irish Catholic working class husband…to _take_ his oh-so posh wife, on the Earl of Grantham's bed…_from behind."_

It was a miracle he didn't spend right then and there.

Gripping her hips with one hand, his other guided the tip of his cock to her slick, dripping opening, coating himself again with her wetness, before pushing himself in, in a hard, smooth thrust that had them both gasping at the feel. "Yessssssssssss…" she hissed. "Moooore, please…"

"More?" he growled, his hands gripping her hips a little harder as he began to rock in and out, back and forth from her body. "God, Sybil…you…you feel so good…"

Some mornings they liked taking their time, their lovemaking slow and long and lingering. But this was not that sort of morning. "Oh Tom…take me, TAKE ME! Please…more…I _need_ more!" she gasped, pushing back and trying to rock her hips to his thrusts.

"I'll take you," he growled. "I won't stop until you're quivering," he promised.

"Yesssssssssss…" she panted. "Faster, Tom! Oh God, faster…FASTER!"

He couldn't form words; he only growled and gripped her hips even harder, doing as she begged, thrusting faster and feeling her delicious body squeeze and grip him with every motion, sucking him in deeper, milking him, marking him, making her his.

"More…MORE!" she all but screamed, arching her body beautifully to his movements. "Don't…don't hold back!" she whimpered. "I'm yours, Tom, YOURS! Your wife…your woman…oh yes, just like that!" she gasped. "Your lover! YOURS!_ ALL YOURS!"_

"Mine…mine…_MINE!"_ he possessively growled with each thrust. Oh God, he was close, and from how she felt around him, she was close too. He bent forward, his chest now rubbing against her back as his teeth bit her shoulder. Sybil cried out, gasping and whimpering, especially when one hand moved around to slip between her legs to find her clit. He stroked it, rubbed it, circled it with the rough pads of his fingers, smiling as he felt her tremble and shiver, her pleasure peaking, just as his was.

"TOM!" she cried, her knuckles white from where they gripped the headboard. "TOM!"

She began to shake, the vibrations of her sweet orgasm taking her and claiming her body in the name of pleasure. Within a matter of seconds, he followed, collapsing atop her back, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his mouth gasping and open and pressed against her skin as the aftershocks of his own orgasm shook him to the core.

"Oh God…" he groaned, his chest and brow slick with sweat. "Ooooohhhh Sybil…" his lips kissed the back of her neck, her shoulders, all the while hugging her tightly, before the both of them groaned and their worn limbs gave way beneath them. Together, they sank down onto the bed, him clutching her body and holding her tight while their breathing slowly began to return to normal. "I love you…" he whispered, continuing to rain kisses across her shoulders and neck, nuzzling her hair and never loosening his hold around her.

"Mmmmmmm…" she purred, her delicious rump pressing against him. He was still buried within her, and had no intentions of leaving just yet. She turned her head a little, smiling over her shoulder at him, and reached behind, her hand going to the back of his head and her fingers threading through his hair, encouraging his lips to kiss hers. "I love you too," she whispered, sighing happily into his kiss.

This woman. This amazing woman. No amount of telling her how much he loved her, how beautiful he found her, how much she meant to him would be enough. But he would tell her, none the less. He would always desire her, always be in a near-constant state of arousal when around her. And once again, he found himself whispering a thankful prayer to God for sending this angel into his life. This wicked angel who had a streak of the devil in her, thank heaven!

"Oooohhh Tom…" she purred again, giggling softly as he nuzzled and growled against her neck. "We haven't…we haven't done it like that since I was pregnant with Saoirse!"

He lifted his head, his chin resting on her shoulder. "Was it alright?"

Her grin only grew. "Would I have begged you as I did if it wasn't?"

He chuckled and kissed her again, savoring the sweet texture and flavor of her lips and tongue. "You did seem rather…enthusiastic, I suppose," he teased.

Her rump wriggled against him again and he groaned, which naturally made her smile. "And you weren't?" she looked at him over her shoulder with a haughty eyebrow. "Admit it; this has been a fantasy of yours since I agreed to marry you."

He bit his lip, his mind wandering back to those lonely days and nights when he was still anxiously awaiting her answer. It would be a lie to say that his mind hadn't imagined practically every scenario for their lives if she said yes. And it would also be a lie to say that a majority of those thoughts weren't of their wedding night. Sometimes he worried that he would frighten Sybil with the pent up passions that had been lying dormant all those years during the War, lying in wait, just boiling beneath the surface and aching for release. He imagined the two of them in their own room, on their own bed as a married couple. But he had also imagined what it would be like if she had come to him at his cottage, or he had somehow managed to find some way into the house, into her room? Yes, his imagination had been quite detailed with those thoughts. But there was one, one that he tried to keep hidden in the back of his head, that even after she had said yes, after they had married, after all the many beautiful and wonderful ways in which they made love and he realized that there was nothing to fear because she was equally as passionate as he…there was one place, one fantasy, one bedchamber that he chose to keep to himself, because he feared that she would think him perverted for having such a thought.

But on the night when Larry Grey drugged him, it all came tumbling out.

_"They're gone…" she assured, her hand touching his brow and pushing away the sweaty hair. _

_ He felt wretched. "I'm sorry love—"_

_ "Hush!" she put a finger to his lips. "Of all people, you are the LAST one who should be apologizing!" She was livid, that much he could see. And he couldn't help but smile at her, glad she wasn't angry with him, even though she had every right to be. _

_ "I embarrassed you—"_

_ "YOU did no such thing!" she shushed, rising from the bed and angrily pacing about the room. "That was Larry's doing and all because he's a jealous, spineless bully!" she growled. "Oh how I wanted to strangle him and slap that smirk off his face! He's LUCKY that Lord Merton had them leave while Matthew and I were helping you upstairs," she all but snarled._

_ Once again, despite the anger in her voice, he couldn't help but smile. "I love you so much…"_

_ The hardness in her eyes lightened immediately and she came to the bed, which he was grateful for. "Oh Tom…" she whispered, her arms gently enfolding him. He was grateful for the gesture. Sometimes a man didn't mind a bit of coddling, especially when he was alone with his wife. "Oh Tom, I'm so sorry for all of this, for all that you've been made to endure—"_

_"It's alright…" he managed to mumble, the drugs still heavy. "We…we knew it wasn't going to be easy…"_

_ "But we didn't expect anything like this," she spat in disgust. _

_ "At least…now I'm the best man?"_

_ She smiled, looking happy at his attempt to bring some lightness and humor to the room. "You always were, you know," she giggled. _

_ "Aye," he agreed. "A man would have to be…to have you for his wife."_

_ "Oh stop," she lightly swatted his arm, but never once loosening her hold. His head was nestled against her breasts, and she continued to run her fingers through his hair. It felt good…so good. Whatever was in that drug caused his head to throb with pain, but right now, the soft touch of his wife's fingers and the gentle beat of her heart, soothed him and would heal him far better than any medicine a doctor could prescribe._

_"I can ring for some tea?" she whispered._

_ "Nay…" he murmured, his eyes closed. "Just…just you, that's all I need—all I've ever needed."_

_ His hand drifted down to her swollen belly, and he smiled as he swore he felt a little kick against his palm. _

_ "Another reason I'll never forgive Larry," he heard Sybil sigh after a moment. "He robbed us our evening."_

_ "Our…our evening?" he asked, opening an eye and trying to look up at her. But his eyes felt so heavy…_

_"Yes, I was going to make mad passionate love to you tonight," she sighed wistfully. "Finally bringing that fantasy of yours to life; the ex-chauffeur, taking Lady Sybil on the very bed where she fantasized about him and his broad shoulders and strong forearms for a great many years, long before she had the courage to tell him she would marry him."_

_ "Bastard," he muttered, to which Sybil giggled. Tom smiled and snuggled his head closer, rather liking the bounce of her breasts. _

_ "Well, I will take _full_ advantage of you tomorrow," she promised._

_ "I'll rally soon," he groaned, more for humor's sake, although he dearly wished it was true._

_ "Maybe in the morning…" Sybil whispered, kissing his brow_. _"_If _you're feeling up to it, of course."_

_"I'm always_ up _to it, my darlin'," he groaned. Indeed, he was sure that despite the cloudy thickness of Larry Grey's drugs, his body, he would bet, was more than eager and ready, even if his head wasn't. "Oh my darlin'…you make every fantasy come true…"_

_ He felt so sleepy, despite his desire to wake up and let his wife have her wicked way with him. _

_ "I'm glad," she murmured. "Are there any others I should know?"_

_ "Mmmhmm…" he moaned, his eyes closed. _

_ She giggled. "…And?"_

_ He was drifting. "His…his Lordship's chamber…"_

_There was a pause, and he would later realize what it was that he had said, but in that moment, he was too inebriated to realize. "You fantasize about making love to me…in the bedchamber of the Earl and Countess of Grantham?"_

_He only nodded his head; he was too tired to answer. The conversation ended there, nothing further was said about the subject, and when Tom realized what had all been revealed the previous night, he fretted and worried that she would find him disgusting. However, if she did, she didn't show any sign of it. And she never made mention of it again…_

Until now.

"You used your 'feminine wiles' to trick me into revealing that, when you knew I wasn't in my right mind," he defended.

Sybil laughed, even more when he gave her side a little pinch for her cheek. "But are you sorry?" she asked, lifting a pretty eyebrow at him.

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Would I still be here, nestled _deep_ inside you if I were?" he growled, and to emphasize his point, gave a little thrust, which caught Sybil by surprise, causing her to gasp and tremble.

"Tom!" she looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes widening as he moved deeper, his arm that was wrapped around her waist moved down, until it was between her legs and he was hoisting her leg up and over his, causing him to sink even further into her. "Ahhhhh!"

"Mmmmm…good?" he gasped, twisting his body just so, so he could thrust even harder.

"Yesssssssssss…" she whimpered, her hands locked behind her, wrapping around his neck, his head, threading in his hair, encouraging him to kiss anything he could, be it her shoulders, her neck, her face, and turning her head just so, so she could kiss him back. "Mmmmm…more, please…please don't stop!"

"Never," he vowed, his arm continuing to hold her leg steady, his fingers moving to the nub between her legs and finding it and rubbing it once again. She gasped and trembled, still sensitive from earlier. His other hand caressed her breasts, tugging and playing with her nipples, rolling them between his fingers as his mouth attacked hers, kissing her deeply, sucking her tongue and groaning as she did the same to him. "I'll never stop…" he panted as the pace increased. "Never stop…never stop loving you!"

"Never!" she gasped in agreement. "Tom…OH TOM! OOOOHHH!" Just as he had taken her on this bed so many times since they had fallen upon it as Lord and Lady Branson, so too did the pleasure take her, this time by surprise it seemed, because she was gasping and trembling and shaking all over, crying out as he continued to thrust, feeling his own release so close…so close…SO CLOSE!

"SYBIL!" he roared, his body shaking, his seed spilling into her as once again, he too was taken by the amazing pleasure that only she and her love could give him.

His arms were like a warm cage that locked her to him. "Kiss me…please, please kiss me…" she whimpered over her shoulder, needing him desperately as they both came down from the ecstasy of their lovemaking. He didn't have to be told twice. His hand rose up to cup her cheek and tenderly stroke it as his lips eagerly found hers again, and kissed her with all the love that overflowed his heart.

This woman. This amazing woman.

"My darlin'," his accent was thick with emotion. "I do love you so much…"

She grinned and kissed his chin, blinking back her own happy tears, her hands coming back around to cover his arms. "And I love you," she murmured with a happy sigh.

For several long minutes they didn't move, simply held one another, basking in the afterglow (twice now in so short a period), and doing nothing more than listening to the other breathing, and dropping tender, gentle kisses; Tom upon Sybil's shoulders, Sybil upon Tom's arms and hands.

"I could lie like this forever…" she whispered.

"Me too," he agreed.

She smiled but sighed and much to Tom's disappointment, began to wriggle away. "Come on; best return to our own chamber, _Lord Branson."_ He put on a pout which caused her to laugh. "Oh it's not that bad!"

"Leaving a bed with you? It _is_ that bad."

She blushed at his words, which always made him smile. "If we don't go back, someone will begin to wonder where we are," she tried to reason.

"You really think Ivy or another kitchen maid is going to wake the entire house, telling everyone that 'Lady Sybil and Mr. Branson aren't in bed!'?" Of course…the second he said the words, an eerie discomfort settled over him. As someone who had once sat in the Servant's Hall on a regular basis, he knew how a joke or rumor could spread like wildfire. And nothing was more entertaining amongst the Downton staff than a good piece of speculation. "...Maybe you're right."

With somewhat shaky legs, he rose from the bed and quickly made his way to Robert's dressing room, where his trousers had been discarded the previous night.

"Tom!" Sybil hissed. He looked back at her with a furrowed brow. "What am I supposed to do for clothes?"

He was confused at first…and then remembered ripping her nightgown. "It's not my fault you didn't bring your dressing gown," he teased. "You'll just have to dart down the corridor naked and hope no one sees you."

"TOM!"

"I'm joking!" he laughed, especially at the somewhat outraged expression that she wore at his initial suggestion. He stepped forward and took the large, dark dressing gown he had worn when he had entered the chamber as "Lord Branson", and quickly wrapped it around his wife's delectable body.

It practically swallowed her up.

"Oh good grief," she muttered, trying to push the sleeves of the dressing gown up so her hands weren't engulfed. She was also aware that it dragged on the floor, and she tried to pick the ends up as if it were a dress, so she wouldn't trip over it. "I look ridiculous!"

"You look adorable," he confessed, laughing at the look she was giving him, especially as the sleeves once again slipped down her arms and swallowed her hands.

With her hands on her hips, she gave him a good, stern stare while tapping her foot. "Seeing as how it is _my_ turn next," she began, trying to look imperious, despite the over-sized dressing gown. "I demand that you carry me, Branson."

He lifted an eyebrow at this. "Oh you 'demand', do you, milady?"

She stuck her nose into the air and gave a haughty nod of the head, before holding her arms out and waiting for him to scoop her up.

_Well…as milady wishes then_, he thought to himself, before reaching forward and causing her to gasp as he lifted her up…and more or less draped her over his shoulder.

"TOM!"

"What? You asked me to carry you?"

"But not like this!" she began to pound one of her fists against his back.

"You should have specified then, shouldn't you?" he gave her rump a swat, and Sybil gasped, but before she could say another word, he had opened the door and was peeking out into the corridor. "I suggest you hold your tongue, milady—or else people will come running to see why Lady Sybil is screeching, and wonder what on earth she and her no-good Irish husband have been up to in this wing of the house…_and_ at this hour, as well."

"Oh you," she attempted to reach down and swat his own backside. "Just you wait, Tom Branson…I'll get my revenge and then it is YOU who will be begging for mercy."

He chuckled as he continued to carry her through the still silent and darkened corridors of the house. "I look forward to it, milady," and he gave her rump another swat, for good measure.


End file.
